
Class IPS 3 5 \\ 
Book. ,(&H LB£l 



Copyright W. 



913 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



THE VERSES OF 
JAMES W. FOLEY 




SONG OF SUMMER DAYS 



' 



BOYS AND GIRLS 



THE VERSES OF 
JAMES W. FOLEY 




NEW YORK 

E-P-DUTTON & COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 






COPYRIGHT, 1905, 1907, 1909, 191 O, I911 
BY JAMES W. FOLEY 



COPYRIGHT, 1913 
BY E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 



THE • PLIMPTON-PRESS 
NORWOOD'MASS'U-S'A- 



©CI.A347900 



TO MY WIFE 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Away 3 

The Reciprocity of Smiles 5 

A Domestic Ripple 7 

The Adams's Boys 9 

Billy Peeble's Christmas n 

The Way He Used to Do 16 

A Boy's Vacation Time 18 

A Boy's Choice 20 

A Discouraged Kindergartner 22 

The Delusion of Ghosts 24 

A Story of Self-Sacrifice 25 

The Lost Child 28 

Doughnutting Time 30 

A Modern Miracle 32 

Nervoustown 34 

Song of Summer Days 36 

What Mother Doesn't Know 37 

So Lonesome Now 39 

A Little Love Story 41 

On a Noiseless Fourth 43 

Conscious Ignorance 45 

The Playtime of Bachelor Bill 47 

How Henry Blake Knows 49 

The Land of Blow Bubbles 5° 

The Gingercake Man S 2 

Lonesome 54 

The Garden of Play 57 

We Ain't Scared of Pa 59 

A Pearl of Price 61 



viii CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Dear Little, Queer Little Man 63 

Girl of Mine 65 

Chums 67 

The Lost Boy 69 

Lines to a Baby Girl 71 

Little Mischefuss 73 

The Travels of Mortimer Brown 75 

Adventurers Three 77 

When They Love You So 79 

Somebody Did 81- 

The Waders 83 

The Prisoned Pupil 85 

A Prayer for Jimmy Banks 87 

A Child's Christmas Prayer 89 

Henry Blake's Chum 91 

Once Upon a Time 93 

The Way to School 95 

A Present for Little Boy Blue 97 

The Evolution of an Adoption 99 

Some Girls that Mamma Knew 101 

Gone 103 

The Neighbor's Boys 104 

A Quiet Afternoon 106 

The Ownerless Toys 108 

The Stranger 110 

In Vacation Time 112 

Bereaved 114 

Two Little Maids 117 

A New Christmas Carol 118 

The Reconciliation of Pa 120 

A World without Care 122 

Right After School 124 

A Plea for Old Friends 127 

The Boyville Cadets 129 

A Little Boy I Know 132 

Asleep at the Circus 135 

The Barriers 137 

The Plaint of the New Doll 139 

A Child's Almanac 141 



CONTENTS ix 

PAGE 

The Loser 143 

Back to School 146 

DlSENCHANTMENTS I48 

A Rainy Night 15° 

Kitchen Miracles 152 

Jim Brady's Big Brother 154 

The Scapegoat 156 

A Tragedy of Center Field 158 

In Swimming 161 

An Unusual Chum 163 

And Just Then 164 

Afterwards 167 

Circus Day 168 

The Tour of a Smile 170 

When Grandpa Plays 172 

The Parted Ways 175 

A Message Home 177 

Lullaby 180 

Disguising Toil 182 

Little Girl with the Curls 185 

My Wonderful Dad 187 

Remembrances, Bill 190 

The Bereavement 192 

In Childhood Time 194 

Don't 196 

Extinguished 198 

The Uncheered Hero 199 

Old Hallowe'en Friends 201 

A Refuge in Distress 203 

The Lost Heart 205 

Verses of a Little Child 208 

Golden Days in Slowville 210 

The Heart of a Child 213 

The Strenuous Life 214 

A Song of Motherhood 216 

Youth 218 

After the Years 220 

A Verse to Memory 222 

Lest I Forget 224 



x CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Echo of a Song 226 

Lovers' Lane 228 

Daddy Knows 230 

To Children at the Hearth 232 

A Toast to the Small Boy 234 

An Adventurous Day 236 

Poem of the Foragers 238 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

by Reginald Birch 



Song of Summer Days Frontispiece 

The Adams's Boys facing page 10 

Billy Peeble's Christmas 14 

A Modern Miracle 32 

A Little Love Story 42 

The Gingercake Man 52 

The Waders 84 

A Prayer for Jimmy Banks 88 

Once Upon A Time 94 

The Neighbor's Boys 104 

Asleep at the Circus .... .... 136 

In Swimming 162 

The Parted Ways ............ 176 

Lullaby 180 

Verses of a Little Child 208 

Lover's Lane 228 



BOYS AND GIRLS 



BOYS AND GIRLS 



AWAY 

I WONT be long," the Little Boy said, 
As he clattered him down the stair, 
And found him a hat for his curly head 
And called to a dog somewhere. 
Then off like a flash down the shady lane 

With a whistle and cry and song; 
And back to us ever it came again: 
"I won't be gone very long." 

"I won't be long," the Little Boy said, 

As we saw him among the trees, 
His eyes all bright and his cheeks all red, 

A friend of the birds and bees; 
Then through the hedges and out of the gate, 

For naught in the world goes wrong 
With a boy of six or seven or eight — 

"I won't be gone very long." 

"I won't be long," the Little Boy said, 

"I'm just going out to play." 
And the curly dog barked and the two of them sped 

Over the clover away. 
He waved us a kiss with a little brown hand 



AWAY 

And cries rose from here and there, 
For oh, but a boy does understand 
A dog and the open air! 

"I won't be long," the Little Boy said, 

" Don't wait any supper — you see, 
I'll just have a bowl of milk and bread 

And my dog he will eat with me." 
Then he swung his hat on its tangled string 

Till the curly dog wagged his tail 
And romped and played like a boy in spring 

And barked him a comrade's hail. 

"I won't be long," the Little Boy said — 

Oh, Mother of him, don't cry! 
The leaves come green again, yellow and red, 

And the years and the years go by. 
But sometime he'll come, as we've seen him do, 

With the bark of a dog and a song, 
For it must be true — oh, it must be true 

That he'll not be gone very long! 



THE RECIPROCITY OF SMILES 

SOMETIMES I wonder why they smile so 
pleasantly at me, 
And pat my head when they pass by as friendly 
as can be; 
Sometimes I wonder why they stop to tell me How- 

d'-do, 
And ask me then how old I am and where I'm going 

to; 
And ask me can I spare a curl and say they used to 

know 
A little girl that looked like me, oh, years and years 

ago; 
And I told Mamma how they smiled and asked her 

why they do, 
So she said if you smile at folks they always smile 
at you. 

I never knew I smiled at them when they were going 

I guess it smiled all by itself and that's the reason 

why; 
I just look up from playing if it's any one I know 
And they most always smile at me and maybe say 

Hello; 
And I can smile at any one, no matter who or 

where. 



6 THE RECIPROCITY OF SMILES 

Because I'm just a little girl with lots of them to 

spare; 
And Mamma said we ought to smile at folks, and if 

you do 
Most always they feel better and they smile right 

back at you. 

And when so many smile at me and ask me for a 

curl 
It makes me think most everybody likes a little girl; 
And once when I was playing and a man was going 

by 
He smiled at me and then he rubbed some dust out 

of his eye, 
Because it made it water so, and said he used to 

know 
A little girl up in his yard who used to smile just so; 
And then I asked why don't she now and then he 

said "You see — " 
And then he rubbed his eye again and only smiled 

at me. 



A DOMESTIC RIPPLE 

SOME days my Pa is thist so cross 
'At Ma, she snaps him off an' said: 
"I guess your father must 'a' got 
Up on th' wrong side of th' bed." 
An' 'en Pa says he'd like to eat 

Thist bread, he would, in peace once more; 
An' Ma, she bu'sts out cryin' nen 

An' Pa goes out an' slams th' door — 
An' 'en I git a spankin' ! 

Thist 'fore he gits his breakfast, Pa 

He never hardly speaks to us, 
An' Ma, she says it shames her so 

T' have him go an' make a fuss 
Before th' girl. Pa, he don't care, 

An' 'en he says — "Th' girl be 



An' Ma says — "Oh, t' think he'd swear 
Before his child!" Th' door gits slammed 
An' 'en I git a spankin' ! 

An' 'en, 'em days, th' littlest things 

I do '11 almost drive her wild, 
An' she says "Goodness sakes alive! 

Was ever such another child?" 
An' she says: "Do run out an' play!" 

An' thist when I git started, nen 



A DOMESTIC RIPPLE 

She hollers right at me this way: 

"Willyum! You march right in again!" 
An' 'en I git a spankin' ! 

An' Pa, he don't come home to lunch 

'Cuz Ma, she says he's too ashamed 
To face her after such a scene 

An' says she surely can't be blamed 
For Pa's mean, ugly, hateful ways, 

An' Ma ain't got no heart to eat, 
Nen, thist 'cuz I want honey on 

My bread, er jam, er sumpin sweet — 
Why nen I git a spankin' ! 

An' 'en, along 'bout supper time 

Pa sneaks in thist th' easiest 
You ever see; an' nen he looks 

For Ma; an' she's th' freeziest 
'At ever was. An' Pa, he's got 

Some candy an' he says he's 'shamed, 
An' fin'ly Ma says mebbe she 

Was also partly to be blamed, 
An' 'en 'at ends my spankin' ! 



THE ADAMS'S BOYS 

THE Adams's children, they just romp and 
play 
And fall out of trees in the carelessest way, 
And might break their legs from the way that they 

fall, 
But they get up laughing and not hurt at all, 
'Cause boys' bones are soft, so their grandfather said; 
And John Quincy Adams, he stands on his head 
And drinks from a dipper, and all over town 
The boys will tell you how he drinks upside down. 

The Adams's children, they make enough noise 

In the yard where they live for three times as much 

boys, 
And sometimes they laugh and you hear it as clear 
As can be up to Tinker's and way over here; 
And they've got a dog which is almost the same 
As the rest of the boys and will play every game, 
And bark all the time, and he makes so much noise 
He's just like the rest of the Adams's boys. 

The Adams's children, they go out to ride 

On a pony of theirs, with them all three astride, 

And the boy up in front makes him kick up and 

then 
The boy way behind, he gets thrown off again; 



io THE ADAMS'S BOYS 

And the Adams's pony, he looks just as though 
He's trying to laugh when the others laugh so; 
It looks like a laugh, but he can't make a noise 
Like the dog or the rest of the Adams's boys. 

The Adams's children, they go out to play 
And sometimes their mother don't see them all day, 
But she never frets, 'cause the world is too small, 
So she said, for three boys to get lost in it all. 
And sometimes she listens outdoors and she hears 
The laughing and barking way over to Geer's, 
Which is most half a mile, and she smiles, because 

then 
She knows they'll be home when they're hungry 

again. 

The Adams's children, they get on as though 

They were three great chums and not brothers, you 

know; 
And folks like to hear them, when they're going past, 
With the big one ahead and the little one last. 
They've always got playmates of their very own, 
And don't have to do chores or to study alone, 
And everything seems to be three times the fun 
For the Adams's children as though there's just one! 




THE ADAMS S BOYS 



BILLY PEEBLE'S CHRISTMAS 

BILLY PEEBLE, he ain't got no parents — 
never had none, 'cause 
When he's borned he was an orfunt; an' he 
said 'at Santa Claus 
Never didn't leave him nothin', 'cause he was a 

county charge, 
An' the overseer told him that his fambly was too 

large 
To remember orfunt children; so I ast Ma couldn't 

we 
Have Bill Peeble up to our house, so's to see our 

Christmas tree. 
An' she ast me if he's dirty; an' I said I guessed he 

was, 
But I didn't think it makes no difference with Santa 
Claus. 

My his clo'es was awful ragged ! Ma, she put him 

in a tub 
An' she poured it full of water, an' she gave him such 

a scrub 
'At he 'ist set there an' shivered; an' he told me 

afterwurds 
'At he never washed all over out to Overseer Bird's! 
'En she burned his ragged trousies an' she gave him 

some of mine; 



12 BILLY PEEBLE'S CHRISTMAS 

My! she rubbed him an' she scrubbed him till she 

almost made him shine, 
Nen he 'ist looked all around him like he's scairt 

for quite a w'ile, 
An' even w'en Ma'd pat his head he wouldn't hardly 

smile. 

'En after w'ile Ma took some flour-sacks an' 'en 

she laid 
'Em right down at the fireplace, 'ist 'cause she is 

afraid 
Santa Claus '11 soil the carpet when he comes down 

there, you know; 
An' Billy Peeble watched her, an' his eyes stuck out 

— 'ist so ! 
'En Ma said 'at in the mornin' if we'd look down on 

the sacks 
'At they'd be 'ist full of soot where Santa Claus had 

made his tracks; 
Billy Peeble stood there, lookin'! An' he told me 

afterwurds 
He was scairt he'd wake right up an' be at Overseer 

Bird's. 

Well, 'en she hung our stockin's up an' after w'ile 

she said: 
"Now, you an' Billy Peeble better go right off to 

bed, 
An' if you hear a noise tonight, don't you boys make 

a sound, 



BILLY PEEBLE'S CHRISTMAS 13 

'Cause Santa Claus don't never come with little 

boys around!" 
So me an' Billy went to bed, an' Billy Peeble, he 
Could hardly go to sleep at all — 'ist tossed an' 

tossed. You see 
We had such w'ite sheets on the bed an' he said 

afterwurds 
They never had no sheets at all at Overseer Bird's. 

So we 'ist laid an' talked an' talked. An' Billy ast 

me who 
Was Santa Claus. An' I said I don't know if it's 

all true, 
But people say he's some old man who 'ist loves 

little boys 
An' keeps a store at the north pole with heaps an' 

heaps of toys 
W'ich he brings down in a big sleigh, with reindeers 

for his steeds, 
An' comes right down the chimbly flue an' leaves 

'ist what you needs. 
My! he's excited w'en I told him that! An' after- 
wurds 
He said they never had no toys at Overseer Bird's. 

I'm fallin' pretty near asleep w'en Billy Peeble said : 
"Sh-sh! What's that noise?" An' w'en he spoke I 

set right up in bed 
Till sure enough I heard it in the parlor down below, 
An' Billy Peeble, he set up an' 'en he said: "Le's go!" 



i 4 BILLY PEEBLE'S CHRISTMAS 

So we got up an' sneaked down stairs, an' both of 

us could see 
'At it was surely Santa Claus, 'ist like Ma said he'd 

be; 
But he must heard us comin' down, because he 

stopped an' said: 
"You, Henry Blake an' William Peeble, go right 

back to bed!" 

My goodness, we was awful scairt! An' both of us 

was pale, 
An' Billy Peeble said up stairs: "My! Ain't he 'ist 

a whale!" 
We didn't hardly dare to talk and got back into 

bed 
An' Billy pulled the counterpane clear up above his 

head, 
An' in the mornin* w'en we looked down on the 

flour-sacks, 
W'y sure enough we saw the soot where he had made 

his tracks, 
An' Billy got a suit of clothes, a drum, an' sled an' 

books, 
Till he 'ist never said a word, but my! how glad 
he looks! 

'En after w'ile it's dinner time an* Billy Peeble set 
Right next to Pa, an' my! how he 'ist et an' et an' et! 
Till he 'ist puffed [an' had to leave his second piece 
of pie 



BILLY PEEBLE'S CHRISTMAS 15 

Because he couldn't eat no more. An' after dinner, 

w'y, 
Ma dressed him up in his new clo'es, an Billy Peeble 

said 
He's sorry he's an orfunt, an' Ma patted Billy's 

head, 
W'ich made him cry a little bit, an' he said after- 

wurds 
Nobody ever pats his head at Overseer Bird's. 

An' all day long Pa looked at Ma an' Ma she looked 

at him, 
Because Pa said 'at Billy looked a little bit like 

Jim 
'At was my baby brother, but he died oncet, years 

ago, 
An' 'at's w'y Billy Peeble makes my mother like 

him so. 
She says 'at Santa brought him as a present, 'ist 

instead 
Of little Jim 'at died oncet. So she 'ist put him to 

bed 
On Christmas night an' tucked him in an' told me 

afterwurds 
'At he ain't never goin' back to Overseer Bird's. 



THE WAY HE USED TO DO 

SOMETIMES when I come in at night 
And take my shoes off at the stair, 
I hear my Pop turn on the light 
And holler: "William, are you there?" 
And then he says: "You go to bed — 
I knew that stealthy step was you." 
And I asked how and then he said : 
"'Cause that's the way I used to do." 

Sometimes when I come home at six 

O'clock and hurry up my chores, 
And get a big armful of sticks 

Of wood and bring it all indoors, 
My Pop he comes and feels my head 

And says: "You've been in swimmin' — you! 
When I asked how he knew, he said : 

"'Cause that's the way I used to do." 

Sometimes before a circus comes, 

When I'm as willing as can be 
To do my chores, and all my chums 

They all take turns at helping me, 
My Pop, he pats 'em on the head 

And says: "You like a circus, too?" 
When I asked how he knew, he said : 

"'Cause that's the way I used to do." 



THE WAY HE USED TO DO 17 

And lots of times when he gets mad 

Enough to whip me and declares 
He never saw another lad 

Like I am — well, at last he spares 
Me from a whipping and he lays 

His rawhide down: "I can't whip you 
For that, although I should," he says, 

" 'Cause that's the way I used to do." 



A BOY'S VACATION TIME 

HAIL, that long-awaited day 
When, the school books laid away, 
All the thoughts of merry youngsters turn 
from pages back to play! 
Done with lesson and with rule, 
Done with teacher and with school, 
Stray the vagrant hearts of childhood to the tempt- 
ing wood and pool! 

Who will tell in rune and rhyme 

Of the glory and the grime 

In the dusty lanes and byways of a boy's vacation 
time? 

Hark, the whistle and the cry 

That is piping shrill and high 

From the chorus of glad youngsters trooping riot- 
ously by! 

Say, did sun e'er brightly shine 

As when, with his rod and line 

Tramps the barefoot lad a-fishing, and the water 
clear and fine? 

Sweet the murmur of the trees, 

And what glory now he sees 

In the chatter of the wild birds and the buzz of bum- 
ble-bees ! 



A BOY'S VACATION TIME 19 

Hear the green woods cry and call, 

Through the Summer to the Fall, 

"We are waiting, waiting, waiting, with a welcome 

for you all!" 
Hear the lads take up the cry, 
With an echo, shrill and high: 

"We are coming, coming, coming, for vacation time 
' is nigh!" 

How the skies are blue and fair, 
How the clover scents the air 

With a witchery of fragrance that is delicate and rare! 
How the blossoms bud and blow, 
And the great waves flood and flow 
In the ocean of boy happiness, like billows, to and 
fro! 

Ah, my heart goes back and sighs 

When the piping calls and cries 

From the hearts of merry youngsters like a song of 

triumph rise! 
And I would that rune and rhyme 
Might be splendid and sublime 
In my heart to tell the story of a boy's vacation time! 



V 

A BOY'S CHOICE 

I'D ruther take a w'ippin' 'an a scoldin' any day, 
'Cuz a w'ippin' makes you tingle, but you go 
right out an' play, 
An' after w'ile you're over it an' 'en at dinner, w'y, 
Your mother's awful sorry an' she brings a piece of 

pie 
An' says she hates to do it, 'cuz it hurts her 'ist as 

bad 
As it does anybody w'en she w'ips her little lad. 

An' 'en at night she kisses you an' puts you into 

bed 
An' tucks the covers in an' says you're Mamma's 

Turly-head, 
An' my! she's 'ist so lovely! An' she sits beside of 

you 
'1st 'cuz she feels so sorry over w'at she had to do. 
An' 'en she leaves the candle burn an' says for you 

to call 
If you want anything from her, an' you ain't scairt 

at all! 

But w'en you get a scoldin' she don't never bring 

you pie, 
Becuz you'll surely break her heart; an' 'en she 

starts to cry; 



A BOY'S CHOICE 21 

An' my! you feel so sorry, an' you wisht she wouldn't, 

'cuz 
It shows you how you've grieved her an' how turble 

bad you wuz. 
An' all day long she never smiles; an' w'en you go 

to bed 
She never leaves the candle burn or calls you Turly- 

head. 

An' sometimes you see big, w'ite things a-lookin' at 

your bed, 
'At makes you scairt an' pull the covers up above 

your head, 
An' 'en you s'pose how would you feel if Mamma 

wuz to die, 
An' biumby you feel so bad 'at you 'ist start to cry. 
So w'en she looks at you so hurt an' talks to you 'at 

way — 
I'd ruther take a w'ippin' 'an a scoldin' any day! 



A DISCOURAGED KINDERGARTNER 

'TTS mornin' mamma told me 
I 'At I mus' be awful dood, 
-**- 'Tuz I'm startin' on my schooldays 
An* I promised her I would. 
But I'm awful much 'iscouraged 

'Tuz I tried so hard to det 
All the lessons teacher gave me, 
But I tant read yet! 

My! it's awful long till dinner, 

An' I couldn't hardly wait 
Wen I dot done wif my letters 

An' I wrote 'em on my slate, 
An' I'm 'shamed to tell my mamma 

'At I dess she'll have to let 
Me go back again tomorrow, 

'Tuz I tant read yet. 

She'll be awful disappointed, 

'Tuz I've been there half a day, 
An' she'll think I didn't study 

Or it wouldn't be that way. 
But I don't s'pose I tan help it, 

An' it does no dood to fret, 
'Tuz I've been to school all mornin' 

An' I tant read yet. 



A DISCOURAGED KINDERGARTNER 23 

I dess our teacher's stupid, 

'Tuz she didn't seem to care 
Wen I went right up an' told her 

Were she's sittin' in her chair, 
'At I'm awful much 'iscouraged 

An' my Mamma she would fret 
'Tuz I've been to school all mornin* 

An' I tant read yet. 

An' 'en she started laughin', 

It's as true as I'm alive, 
An' ast how old I am, an' 'en 

I told her half past five, 
An' 'en she tame an' tissed me, 

'Tuz my eyes are dettin' wet, 
An' told me not to worry 

'Tuz I tant read yet. 

I dess if she had Mother Goose 

She'd be 'isturbed herself, 
If she 'ud go an' det it 

Down f'm off th' lib'ry shelf, 
An' 'en w'en it is open, 

I dess she's apt to fret 
If she's been to school all mornin' 

An' she tant read yet! 



THE DELUSION OF GHOSTS 

SOMETIMES when I got to do errands at night 
An' th' moon is all dark an' th' ain't any light, 
An' th' wind, when it blows, makes a shivery- 
sound, 
An' everything seems awful still all around; 
Sometimes when a hoot-owl goes "Woo-oo-oo-oo!" 
My legs feel so funny; I'm all goose-flesh, too. 
An' maybe I'm startled when I hear it call, 
But I ain't a bit scairt; I'm thes' nervous, that's all. 

Oncet me an' Joe Simpson wuz walkin' one night 
A' past th' old graveyard, an' saw somethin' white 
'Et looked like a ghost, standin' right in th' road, 
An' my, Joe wuz scairt! 'Cuz he said 'et he knowed 
It wuz surely a ghost; an' I wisseled, becuz 
When you wissel you scare 'em; an' all that it wuz 
Wuz a great, big, white cow; an' it thes' walked away, 
An' I wuzn't no more scairt 'n if it wuz day! 

'Cuz I don't b'lieve in ghosts, an' I'd thes' as lieve go 
A' past any graveyard an' walk awful slow, 
An' wissel, an' sit on th' top of th' fence, 
'Cuz th' ain't any ghosts if you got any sense. 
An' when we saw that big white thing by th' road 
'Et Joe wuz so scairt of, I wuzn't. I knowed 
All th' time it's no ghost. I wuz nervous becuz 
I knowed what it wuzn't, but not what it wuz! 



A STORY OF SELF-SACRIFICE 

POP took me to the circus 'cause it disappoints 
me so 
To have to stay at home, although he doesn't 
care to go; 
He's seen it all so many times, the wagons and the 

tents; 
The cages of wild animals and herds of elephants; 
This morning he went down with me to watch the 

big parade, 
He was so dreadful busy that he oughtn't to have 

stayed, 
He said he'd seen it all before and all the reason he 
Went down and watched it coming was because it's 
new to me. 

Then we walked to the circus grounds and Pop he 

says: "I guess 
You want a glass of lemonade, of course," and I says : 

"Yes." 
And he bought one for each of us, and when he drank 

his he 
Told me he drank it only just to keep me company; 
And then he says, "The sideshow is, I s'pose, the 

same old sell, 
But everybody's goin' in, so we might just as well." 
He said he'd seen it all before, and all the reason he 
Went in and saw it was because it was all new to me. 



26 A STORY OF SELF-SACRIFICE 

Well, by and by we both came out and went in the 

big tent, 
And saw the lions and tigers and the bigges' elephant 
With chains on his front corner and an awful funny 

nose 
That looks around for peanuts that the crowd of 

people throws; 
And Pop, he bought some peanuts and it curled its 

nose around 
Until it found most every one that he threw on the 

ground; 
He said he'd seen it all before, and all the reason he 
Stayed there and threw 'em was because it was all 

new to me. 

Well, then the band began to play the liveliestest 

tune, 
And Pop, he says he guessed the show would open 

pretty soon; 
So we went in the other tent, and Pop, he says to 

me: 
"I guess we'll get some reserved seats so you will 

surely see." 
And then some lovely ladies came and stood there 

on the ground, 
And jumped up on the horses while the horses ran 

around; 
Pop said he'd seen it all before, and all the reason he 
Looked at the ladies was because it was all new 

to me. 



A STORY OF SELF-SACRIFICE 27 

Well, finally it's over, but a man came out to say 
That they're going to have a concert, and Pop said 

we'd better stay; 
He said they're always just the same and always 

such a sell, 
But lots of folks was staying and he guessed we might 

as well. 
Then by and by we're home again, and Mamma 

wants to know 
What kind of circus was it, and Pop said, "The same 

old show," 
And said he'd seen it all before and all the reason he 
Had stayed and seen it all was 'cause it's all so new 

to me. 



THE LOST CHILD 

I 'MEMBER when they cut my curls not very 
long ago, 
Because they looked just like a girl's, and I'm 
a boy, you know; 
I used to wear 'em awful long, and once my Pa, he 

said, 
It's time I had my curls cut off and wore short hair 

instead; 
Because I'm big enough for that; and then they 

took the shears 
And snipped my curls off one by one right close up 

to my ears, 
But every time a curl came off, my Mother, she just 

hid 
Her face a little bit and cried. I wonder why she did! 

And after while she picked one up and held it in 
her hand 

With something shining in her eyes I didn't under- 
stand; 

She petted it as if it was a little boy or girl, 

And acted fond of it when it was nothing but a curl. 

And after while they're all cut off and down there 
on the floor, 

And I looked much more like a boy than I had been 
before, 



THE LOST CHILD 29 

But there was something in her eyes she tried and 

tried and tried 
To brush away, but still it came. I wonder why 

she cried. 

And after while I'm all trimmed off, and then my 

Pa, he said, 
I'm not a baby any more, but I'm a boy instead, 
And he is awful proud of me, and then my Ma, she 

smiled 
And said we found a boy that day and lost a little 

child; 
So I said I would hunt for him and bring him back 

but then 
She said she was afraid that he would not come back 

again; 
And picked the curls I had all up from off the floor 

and hid 
Them in her bureau drawer and cried. I wonder 

why she did. 



DOUGHNUTTING TIME 

WUNST w'en our girl wuz makin' pies an' 
doughnuts — 'ist a lot — 
We stood around with great, big eyes, 
'cuz we boys like 'em hot; 
An' w'en she dropped 'em in the lard they sizzled 

'ist like fun. 
An' w'en she takes 'em out it's hard to keep from 
takin' one. 

An' 'en she says: "You boys'll get all spattered up 
with grease, 

An' biumby she says she'll let us have 'ist one apiece; 

So I took one for me an' one for little James McBride, 

The widow's only orfunt son 'at's waitin' there out- 
side. 

An' Henry, he took one 'ist for himself an' Nellie 

Flynn, 
'At's waitin' at the kitchen door an' dassent to come 

in 
Becuz her mother told her not, an' Johnny, he took 

two, 
'Cuz Amy Brennan likes 'em hot, 'ist like we chin- 

nern do. 

'En Henry happened 'ist to think he didn't get a one 



DOUGHNUTTING TIME 31 

For little Ebenezer Brink, the carpet beater's son, 
Who never gets 'em home becuz he says he ain't 

quite sure 
But thinks perhaps the reason wuz his folkses are 

too poor. 

An' 'en I give my own away to little Willie Beggs 
'At fell way down his stairs one day an' give him 

crooked legs, 
'Cuz Willie always seems to know w'en our girl's 

goin' to bake, 
He wouldn't ast for none — oh, no! But, my! he's 

fond of cake. 

So I went back an' 'en I got another one for me 
Right out the kettle, smokin' hot an' brown as it 

could be, 
An' John, he got one, too, becuz he give his own 

to Clare, 
An' w'en our girl, she looked, there wuz 'ist two 

small doughnuts there! 

My! She wuz angry w'en she looked an' saw 'ist 

them two there, 
An' says she knew 'at she had cooked a crock full 

an' to spare, 
She says it's awful 'scouragin' to bake an' fret an' 

fuss, 
An' w'en she thinks she's got 'em in the crock they're 

all in us! 



A MODERN MIRACLE 

ONCE w'en I'm sick th' doctor come 
An' 'en I put my tongue 'way out, 
An' he says, "H-m-m! Nurse, get me some 
Warm water, please." An' in about 
A minute, w'y, she did an' 'en 
He put a glass thing into it 
An' 'en he wiped it off again 
An' put it in my mouth a bit. 

'En after w'ile he took it out 

An' held it up w'ere he could see, 
An' 'en he says, "H-m-m! '1st about 

Too high a half of a degree." 
An' 'en Ma asked him if I'm bad 

An' he says "Nope!" 'ist gruff an' cross 
'An says " W'y you can't kill a lad, 

An' if you do it ain't much loss!" 

An' 'en she's mad an' he 'ist bust 

Out laughin' an' he says, " Don't fret, 
He's goin' t' be all right, I trust. 

W'y he ain't even half dead yet." 
An' 'en he felt my pulse, 'at way, 

An' patted me upon my head 
An' says "There ain't no school today, 

'Cuz one of th' trustees is dead!" 




A MODERN MIRACLE 



A MODERN MIRACLE 33 

An' my, I'm awful sorry w'en 

He told me that. An' 'en he said 
"He'll be all right by noon." An' 'en 

He went away. An' Ma says "Ned, 
How do you feel?" An' 'en, you know, 

Since Doctor told me that, somehow, 
I'm awful sick a while ago, 

But, my! I'm almost well right now! 



NERVOUSTOWN 

OH, there's never a noise in Nervoustown; 
Not the cry of a youngster; and up or down 
There's never a cheer or a whistle shrill; 
Just silence, like that of the grave, so still; 
The horses trot with a muffled tread, 
But the place seems lonesome and drear and dead, 
For a cloth-bound head and a nervous frown 
Are all you may see in Nervoustown. 

Sh-h ! you must walk with noiseless tread 
For there's many a hot and aching head; 
The doors are closed and the blinds are down, 
For it must be dark in Nervoustown. 
And you mustn't whistle or shout or cheer 
Or slam the doors! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! 
Lest a cloth-bound head and a terrible frown 
Poke out at you from Nervoustown. 

Oh, there's never a person there but goes 

On the very tip of his tippy-toes; 

Nor ever a lad has heard at all 

Of follow-my-leader or rude baseball; 

It's much as your life is worth to yell, 

The flowers can't grow for the camphor-smell; 

While a big policeman, up and down, 

Cries "Sh-h!" through the streets of Nervoustown. 



NERVOUSTOWN 35 

And a little boy, who didn't know, 

Once years and years and years ago, 

Gave three loud, lusty cheers one day 

For something or other, I can't say, 

And they snipped his head off — Oh! Oh! Oh! 

With big, red, rusty shears, you know, 

And cloth-bound heads bobbed up and down 

With gladness all through Nervoustown. 

But, oh, it's gloomy in Nervoustown, 

With the doors tight shut and the blinds all down, 

Where the frightened lad his whole life goes 

On the very tips of his tippy-toes, 

Where the hens don't cluck and the birds don't sing, 

And even the church bells dare not ring 

Lest a cloth-bound head with a terrible frown 

Poke out at them from Nervoustown. 



SONG OF SUMMER DAYS 

SING a song of hollow logs, 
Chirp of cricket, croak of frogs, 
Cry of wild bird, hum of bees, 
Dancing leaves and whisp'ring trees; 
Legs all bare and dusty toes, 
Ruddy cheeks and freckled nose, 
Splash of brook and swish of line, 
Where the song that's half so fine ? 

Sing a song of summer days, 
Leafy nooks and shady ways, 
Nodding roses, apples red, 
Clover like a carpet spread; 
Sing a song of running brooks, 
Cans of bait and fishing hooks, 
Dewy hollows, yellow moons, 
Birds a-pipe with merry tunes. 

Sing a song of skies of blue, 
Eden's garden made anew, 
Scarlet hedges, leafy lanes, 
Vine-embowered sills and panes; 
Stretch of meadows, splashed with dew, 
Silver clouds with sunlight through, 
Cry of loon and pipe of wren, 
Sing and call it home again. 



WHAT MOTHER DOESN'T KNOW 

SOMETIMES w'en I got to pile wood in the 
yard, 
'1st wringin' with sweat 'cuz I'm workin' so 
hard, 
An' see all the neighbors' boys startin' to fish, 
I can't hardly work any more, an' I wish 
'At I wuz a-goin' an' 'en right away 
I run an' ast Ma if I can't go today, 
An' she says to me 'en: "Johnny Jones, you can run 
Off an' fish 'ist as soon as your work is all done. 

You must work while you work, 
You must play while you play 
An' 'en you'll be happy for many a day." 
An' mebbe it's so, 
But my goodness ! to go 

With the boys 'at's gone fishin' ! — I guess she 
dunno! 

Sometimes w'en I got to hoe garden an' hear 

The boys playin' ball in the next lot, so near 

I hear 'em all cheerin' an' see 'em all score, 

I can't hardly stand it to hoe any more. 

So 'en I ast Ma if I can't go an' play 

An' promise to hoe twict as much the next day, 

But she says to me 'en: "Johnny Jones, you can run 

Off an' play 'ist as soon as your work is all done. 



38 WHAT MOTHER DOESN'T KNOW 

You must work while you work, 

You must play while you play 

An' 'en you'll be happy for many a day." 

An' mebbe it's so, 

But, my goodness! to hoe 

W'en you hear 'em a-playin'! — I guess she dunno. 

Sometimes w'en the snow gets all piled up so deep 
On the walk 'at she tells me to go out an' sweep 
It all off, an' Sam Russell comes by with his sled, 
My broom 'at I'm usin' gets heavy as lead. 
An' I can't hardly sweep, an' I ast Ma if I 
Can't go out a-slidin' an' sweep by an' by, 
But she says to me 'en: "Johnny Jones, you can run 
Off and slide 'ist as soon as your work is all done. 

You must work while you work, 

You must play while you play 

An' 'en you'll be happy for many a day." 

An' mebbe it's so, 

But to have to sweep snow 

W'en the boys are a-slidin' ! — I guess she dunno. 



SO LONESOME NOW 

OVER t' Henry Murray's, why, 
They always had lots an' lots o' pie, 
An' toy automobiles an' v'locipedes 
An' walkin' toys, like a fellow reads 
About sometimes, but he seldom sees, 
An' swings out under th' big oak trees, 
An' childurn a-playin' on every bough — 
But my! It is turrible lonesome now. 

Over t' Henry Murray's, why, 

His mother an' father 'ist seemed t' try 

An' see if they couldn't get some new toys 

For Henry an' all of us other boys 

'At played with him; an' she used t' make 

Th' dandiest currant an' raisin cake, 

An' boys 'ist flocked there like flies, somehow 

But my! It is turrible lonesome now. 

Over 't Henry Murray's, why, 
His mother 'ud see you goin' by 
An' ast you why you didn't come an' play 
With Henry an' all of his toys, some day. 
An' every Christmas she'd have a tree 
With presents, th' finest you ever see, 
An' nobody got forgot, somehow — 
But my! It is turrible lonesome now. 



4 o SO LONESOME NOW 

An' over t' Henry Murray's, why.. 

We boys 'ist look while we're goin' by, 

An' see all his toys layin' there outside. 

Once Big Bill Skinner broke down an' cried 

An' says he don't care — it was 'ist too bad, 

'Cause Henry was all of th' boy they had. 

An' th' swings 'ist hang from th' big oak bough — 

An' my! It is turrible lonesome now. 



A LITTLE LOVE STORY 

SHE understands. I do not need to go 
And tell her she is all the world to me. 
I never speak a word to let her know 
I will be faithful till Eternity, 
But when, upon the way to school, she sees 

Me come with two red apples in my hands 
And hears me say: "Please, Sally Jane, take these,'* 
It is no wonder that she understands. 

Or when she sees me at the old front gate 

With my new sled right after the first snow, 
And from her window calls to me to wait 

Until she asks her Mother can she go, 
I do not need to tell her why I come 

In my fur cap with mittens on my hands, 
For even if my feelings make me dumb 

She looks at me and then she understands. 

Or if she whispers something when in school, 

As children are quite often apt to do, 
Forgetting all about the teacher's rule, 

And teacher says to Sally: "Was that you?" 
Why then I see how scared she is and rise 

Up in my seat and hold up both my hands 
And take the blame — she looks into my eyes — 

I do not need to speak — she understands. 



42 A LITTLE LOVE STORY 

Or if she has the measles so I dare 

Not go up to her house, but I can look 
In through the window and she sees me there, 

And if I bring a dandy story book 
And leave it on the fence post where the nurse 

Can come and take it in, and if my hands 
Have written, "Dear, I hope you'll be no worse," 

I do not need to speak — she understands. 

I do not need to tell her how I feel — 
She only has to watch the things I do; 

She knows my heart is true to her as steel, 
And if it rains or if the sky is blue 

I wait for her to walk to school with me, 
' And carry all her school-books in my hands, 

And I am just as happy as can be, 

And so is she — because she understands. 




A LITTLE LOVE STORY 



ON A NOISELESS FOURTH 

ON a noiseless street stood a crackerless lad 
with a screechless fife and a headless drum, 
Venting his glee in a voiceless shout, as a 
blareless band, all still and dumb, 
Came down the length of the avenue, and a bugle 

corps blew a noteless blare, 
While a screechless rocket with noiseless hiss cut a 

fireless path through the silent air. 
The blareless band played a soundless tune and the 

crackerless lad gave a voiceless shout 
As the rippling folds of the unfurled flag from the 

upheld standard fluttered out. 
"Hurrah!" he cried with a voiceless cry, put forth 

from his lips in a speechless way. 
"Hurrah for the guns of Lexington and the noiseless 
Independence Day!" 

Then far away down the village street a smokeless 
gun belched a soundless roar, 

A popless cracker fizzless died, and the band played 
a blareless tune once more; 

The clickless guns of the village guards with a thud- 
less sound dropped on the ground. 

The marshal left his neighless horse, and the voice- 
less mob ranged all around; 



44 ON A NOISELESS FOURTH 

A fizzless pinwheel silent whirred, and the drum corps 
joined in a tootless screech, 

The lips of the village speaker moved in the tongue- 
less strains of a wordless speech. 

Then a graceless benediction fell, and the crackerless 
lad, in a voiceless way, 

Gave a soundless shout for Bunker Hill and the noise- 
less Independence Day. 

Oh, the pulseless thrill of the noiseless guns and the 
tootless fifes and the headless drums, 

The heartless joy of the crackerless lad, as the sound- 
less pageant noiseless comes 

Down the village street, and the sightless glow of the 
hissless rocket's fireless glare 

With noiseless swish from the silent earth through the 
measureless breadth of the lightless air! 

But a fingerless youth of the olden time, when crack- 
ers popped and cannons roared, 

Looked on the scene with much disgust and the look 
of a lad who is greatly bored; 

And he cried aloud — 'twas the only sound that was 
heard, not made in a voiceless way: 

" Dog-gone the guns at Bunker Hill and the noiseless 
Independence Day!" 



CONSCIOUS IGNORANCE 

I'M only 'ist a little girl, 
An' w'en I want to play 
An' Mamma says don't go outside 
Our yard this livelong day, 
An' w'en some other girls 'ey come 

An' pester me to go, 
It may be wrong, but I'm so young, 
How does she s'pose I know? 

An' 'en w'en she goes out sometimes 

An' says: "Now go to bed 
At eight o'clock this very night,'' 

I 'member what she said. 
But w'en the mantel clock strikes eight 

An' I don't want to go, 
It may be wrong, but I'm so young, 

How does she s'pose I know? 

An' w'en she says: "Now, don't go near 

The cookie jar this day," 
I want some cookies awful much 

An' try to stay away. 
But all the time I'm hungry for 

Some cookies, an' I go — 
It may be wrong, but I'm so young, 

How does she s'pose I know? 



46 CONSCIOUS IGNORANCE 

I'm only 'ist a little girl 

Not more 'n six years old, 
An' my, I always try to do 

E'zactly as I'm told. 
But w'en I make 'ist one mistake, 

My Ma ought not to go 
An' punish me, 'cause I'm so young, 

How does she s'pose I know? 



1/ 



THE PLAYTIME OF BACHELOR BILL 

OUR Uncle Bill's a bachelur, an' it's an awful 
shame, 
'Cuz he knows stories about bears an' knows 
'em all by name. 
An' growls 'ist like a really one an' makes you think 

a bear 
Is underneath th' table, but of course it isn't there. 
An' when he takes you on his knee he talks 'ist like 

a book 
An' after w'ile your eyes get big an' you're a-scairt to 

look: 
Wen he says: "Nen a bear come out an' 'ist went 

Boo-oo-oo ! " 
Becuz you almost think a bear is really after you. 

An' 'en he plays wild Indian an' hides himself some- 

wheres 
W'ile we look in th' corners an' behind th' parlor 

chairs, 
An' peek in th' dark closets an' p'tend we're on a 

scout 
Till after w'ile he makes a whoop an' 'en comes 

rushin' out 
'1st like he's on th' warpath; an' us chinnern run 

upstairs 
An' hide in Mamma's closet an' he makes us think 

'at bears 



48 THE PLAYTIME OF BACHELOR BILL 

Are comin' in to get us an* he growls 'ist like he's one, 
An' my! we're turble scairt an' yet it's awful lots o' 
fun. 

An' 'en he is a pirate an' he makes us chinnern play 
'At we are in a shipwreck an' th' crew is cast away 
Upon a desert island w'ere his treasure chest is hid, 
An' we are only sailors an' his name is Captain Kidd. 
An' w'en we hear him comin' he 'ist roars an' 'en we 

run, 
'Cuz he has broomsticks for a sword an' pokers for a 

gun, 
An' after w'ile he kills us all but it don't hurt, an' 

w'en 
He sails away in his big ship we come to life again. 

'En after w'ile our Mother comes an' taps him on th' 

head, 
An' says it's time for bears an' scouts an' things 

to be in bed, 
An' leads us chinnern all upstairs an' maybe if we 

keep 
Right still she'll let th' candle burn until we go to 

sleep. 
'En after w'ile our Uncle Bill comes up to say good- 
night, 
An' see how snug an' warm we are an' all tucked in 

so tight, 
An' 'en he kisses us good-night an' 'en his eyes 'ist 

blur: 
I guess we make him sorry 'at he is a bachelur! 



HOW HENRY BLAKE KNOWS 

DON'T you dast kill a toad, Henry Blake says, 
for true 
As your're born it'll rain right away if you 
do. 
For Henry Blake says oncet some boys 'at he knowed 
Were goin' a-fishin' an' one killed a toad, 
An' it all clouded up an' it got just as black, 
An' it thundered an' lightninged before they got back 
Till they were awful scairt. He says he dunno why, 
But he thinks toads has somethin' t' do with the sky. 
An' Henry Blake showed 
Us th' place in th' road 

Where the boys went an' kilt him an' that's how 
he knowed. 

Henry Blake says if you just split a bean 
An' put half of it on a wart when it's green, 
An' throw half of it between midnight an' dawn 
In a cistern somewhere, why, your wart'll be gone 
Just as soon as it rots. Henry Blake says it's true 
'Cuz a friend of his showed him a bean cut in two 
That took off a big wart, an' th' half was all black 
An' Henry Blake says that it never came back. 

An' Henry's friend showed 

Him th' cistern he throwed 

The other half into an' that's how he knowed ! 



THE LAND OF BLOW BUBBLES 

HIS curls are like rings of red gold on his head, 
His lips are as red as a cherry, 
His cheeks are as round as an apple, and red, 
His eyes full of mischief and merry. 
His heart is as pure as a snowflake in air, 

A fig for the whole of his troubles ! 
For he's my Boy Careless — you've seen him some- 
where, 
And he lives in the land of Blow Bubbles ! 

Now he's riding a stick that is legless and dead, 

Through the lanes and across the sere stubbles, 
For a stick is a horse with four legs and a head 

In that magic boy land of Blow Bubbles! 
He bears at his side a sword cut from a lath, 

With a big wooden gun on his shoulder, 
And woe to the wild beast that crosses his path 

For never a huntsman was bolder. 

Now down from his steed leaps Boy Careless in haste, 

He drops on one knee in the stubbles, 
For stubbles are woods full of wild beasts, all chased 

To their death by the boys in Blow Bubbles! 
His musket he brings to his shoulder and shoots, 

The sound of it echoes and doubles, 
For a make-believe gun kills the make-believe brutes 

In that magic boy land of Blow Bubbles. 



THE LAND OF BLOW BUBBLES 51 

Then out from the forest a savage all red 

With blood-curdling yell leaps to battle, 
A thrust from the big wooden sword — he is dead 

With a most melancholy death-rattle. 
Then up from the ground lifts Boy Careless his horse, 

And back o'er the all-trackless stubbles, 
For it's many a mile to his cabin, of course, 

In the magic boy land of Blow Bubbles. 

Oh, joy to the lad in his make-believe ride 

With the make-believe gun on his shoulder, 
With the make-believe sword cut from lath at his side, 

And a sigh from the heart that is older! 
A whistle for Care from the harp of his lips, 

A fig for the whole of his troubles, 
When he's off like the wind on his make-believe trips 

In the magic boy land of Blow Bubbles! 



THE GINGERCAKE MAN 

THE Gingercake man was a lump of brown 
dough 
Till a great rolling pin was run over him, so! 
To flatten him out, and he lay there so thin, 
His bones almost popped through the holes in his 

skin; 
They sifted him over with flour and spice, 
And made him some eyes with two kernels of rice, 
And took some dried currants, the biggest and best, 
To make him some buttons for closing his vest. 

The Gingercake man wabbled this way and that, 
When they seeded a raisin and made him a hat 
That was stuck on his head in the jauntiest way, 
For a Gingercake man is not made every day. 
They stuck in some cloves for his ears; yes, indeed! 
And made him some teeth out of caraway seed, 
And when he was finished they buttered a pan — 
The biggest they had — for the Gingercake man. 

Then into the oven they put him to bake 
Until he was hard and could stand and not break 
His legs when he stood; and they set him to cool 
Until all the children should come home from school. 
And oh, the delight and the wonder and glee, 
When mother invited the children to see, 



THE GINGERCAKE MAN 53 

All sifted with sugar and out of the pan, 
The good-natured face of the Gingercake man. 

But alas and alas! 'Tis a short life and sweet 

Is the Gingercake man's — for they ate off his feet, 

They broke off his arms with the hungriest zest, 

And picked all the buttons from out of his vest; 

They nibbled his legs off and ate up his hat, 

And everything edible went just like that, 

Till the cloves and the kernels of rice you may scan 

As all that is left of the Gingercake man ! 



LONESOME 

SAY, little boy, be friends with me and I'll be 
friends with you; 
And I won't never tell on you, no matter what 
you do. 
It's awful lonesome over here and, goodness, but 

it's hard 
To have your mother say that you must play in 
your back yard. 
There's lots of daisies where I am, and butterflies as 

bright 
As anything you ever saw, and I just saw one light; 
Perhaps you'd catch it in your cap if I would help 

you to — 
Come over and be friends with me and I'll be 
friends with you. 

I'm all the children we have got — I'm lonesome as 

can be, 
I wish you wouldn't be afraid to come and play with 

me. 
I don't care if your face ain't clean or if your clothes 

are torn, 
I didn't have no clothes at all the time that I was 

born. 
We got ripe apples on our trees and I will boost you so 
That you can get some if you come, and when it's 

time to go 



LONESOME 



55 



We'll fill your cap and pockets full to take home. 

Don't you see 
I'm willing to be friends with you if you'll be 

friends with me? 

I've got a lot of wooden toys, as fine as they can 

be, 
But I want something that's alive to run around with 
me, 
And play wild Indians and bears, and if you'll 

come and play 
Perhaps my Mamma '11 let me come and play with 
you some day. 
We've got some dandy hollow trees, the finest any- 
wheres, 
And one of us can hide in them when we are playing 
bears, 
And growl just like he's awful cross, and all the 

time you know 
It's only make-believe, of course, but then it scares 
you so. 

I wish you'd come and play with me. I've got a 

jumping-jack 
I'll give you for your very own to keep when you go 
back, 
And you can ride my v'locipede most all the after- 
noon 
And blow some bubbles with my pipe and play 
with my balloon. 



56 LONESOME 

I've got an awful lot of toys and I will let you play 
That they are yours as much as mine for all the time 
you stay, 
I'm all the boys my folks have got. I'm lonesome 

as can be, 
Come on, and I'll be friends with you if you'll be 
friends with me. 



THE GARDEN OF PLAY 

OUT in the Garden of Childhood gay 
Romp three glad youngsters with merry 
cries, 
Startling the birds with their boisterous play, 

Lightheart and Laughter and big Brighteyes. 
Ever you see them and hear them there, 
Morning or evening or blossomy noon, 
And oh, but the Garden of Youth is fair, 
And oh, but the years of it pass too soon! 

Over the Garden arch cloudless skies, 

(Ah, but the skies of all Youth are blue!) 
Lightheart and Laughter and big Brighteyes 

Find in each nook something rare and new. 
Cool is the shade of the coaxing trees, 

Bidding them hide from the sun at noon, 
And oh, but what glorious days are these, 

And oh, but the hours of them pass too soon! 

Rare is the Garden with fragrant flowers 

(Ah, but the flowers of Youth are fair!) 
Garlands they weave of the golden hours, 

Sweet with the song of the birds in air. 
Splashed all the earth with a rosy light, 

Light of the sun at its splendid noon, 
And oh, but the sunshine of Youth is bright, 

And oh, but the light of it dies too soon! 



58 THE GARDEN OF PLAY 

Sweet to mine ears from the Garden gay 

Echo their calls and their merry cries, 
Startling the birds with their boisterous play, 

Lightheart and Laughter and big Brighteyes. 
Dips the red sun to its shadowed west, 

These are the years of mine afternoon, 
And oh, but the years of my youth were best, 

And oh, but the joy of them passed too soon! 



WE AIN'T SCARED O' PA 

US boys ain't scared o' Pa so much, 
He only makes a noise, 
An' says he never did see such 
Onmanageable boys. 
But when Ma looks around I see 

Just somethin' long an' flat 
An' always make a point to be 
Some better after that. 

Pa promises an' promises, 

But never does a thing; 
But what Ma says she does she does, 

An' when I go to bring 
Her slipper or her hair brush when 

She says she'll dust my pants, 
I think I could be better then 

If I had one more chance. 

Pa always says nex' time 'at he 

Will have a word to say, 
But Ma she is more apt to be 

A-doin' right away; 
Pa turns around at us an' glares 

As fierce as he can look, 
But when we're out o' sight, upstairs, 

He goes back to his book. 



60 WE AIN'T SCARED O' PA 

Ma doesn't glare as much as Pa 

Or make as big a fuss, 
But what she says is law is law, 

And when she speaks to us 
She's lookin' carelessly around 

F'r somethin' long an' flat, 
And when we notice it, we're bound 

To be good after that. 

So we ain't scairt o' Pa at all, 

Although he thinks we are; 
But when we hear Ma come an' call, 

No difference how far 
We are away we answer quick, 

An' tell her where we're at, 
When she stoops down and starts to pick 

Up somethin' long an' flat! 



A PEARL OF PRICE 

SHE isn't worth a fortune and she hasn't any 
stocks, 
Her wealth is all in little shoes and pinafores 
and frocks. 
In little rings of curling hair and big blue, laughing 

eyes, 
In leaves and grass and buds and flowers and bees 

and butterflies. 
But when she comes in tired from play and crawls 

upon my knee 
She's worth a hundred millions to her mother and to 
me. 

She sits among her dolls and toys and doesn't seem 

to care 
If wealth is all in rosy cheeks and locks of curly hair. 
She toddles up to me and like an artful fairy clips 
A coupon bearing love from off the sweetness of her 

lips. 
And when she puts her arms around my neck and 

goos in glee, 
She's worth uncounted millions to her mother and to 

me. 

And when she's in her crib at night and daintily 
tucked in, 



62 A PEARL OF PRICE 

The wealth of Croesus couldn't buy the dimple in her 
chin, 

And as she blinks her roguish eyes to play at peek- 
a-boo, 

She chuckles me a fortune with each archly spoken 
goo. 

And though she has no fortune, I am sure you will 
agree, 

She's a fortune, more than money, to her mother and 
to me. 



DEAR LITTLE, QUEER LITTLE MAN 

DEAR little, queer little man, 
With his hair all a tumble of curls, 
With a light in his eyes 
Like the blue of the skies 
When the dawn's rosy banner unfurls! 
Sweet little, fleet little man, 
Who fills all the house with his toys, 
Whose laugh has the truth 
Of the heart of his youth : 
A toast to the health of our boys ! 

Dear little, queer little man, 

With a big, paper cap on his head, 

And a sword at his side 

As he gets up to ride 
On his hobby-horse, gaudy and red ! 
Play, little, gay little man; 

Fill all of the house with your noise, 

For, oh, it were ill 

If your laughter were still! 
A toast to the laughter of boys! 

Dear little, queer little man, 

With dreams of the future to be, 
When he shall grow tall 
And shall care for us all, 



64 DEAR LITTLE, QUEER LITTLE MAN 

His mother, his sister and me! 
Brave little, grave little man, 

With thoughts, like his youth, incomplete, 
But bearing the seed 
That shall blossom and lead 

To manhood all gracious and sweet. 

Dear little, queer little man, 

Whose heart is so boyish and pure, 

May the sweetness and truth 

That are flowers of youth 
Through all of your being endure! 
Play, little, gay little man; 

Fill all of the house with your noise, 

For, oh, what so sweet 

As the pattering feet 
And the echoing laughter of boys ? 

Dear little, queer little man, 

The light of the dawn's rosy beams 
Be evermore spread 
On your dear, curly head, 
And truth to your innocent dreams! 
Blest little, best little man, 
God keep you as pure as the truth 
That lingers and lies 
In the light of your eyes : 
Long life to the heart of your youth ! 



GIRL OF MINE 

OH, her frock is crisp and white, 
And her hair is curled up tight 
To her roguish little head, just 
like an aureole of light. 
Not a heart but she could win 
With the ribbon at her chin 
And her cheeks that have such 
very little merry dimples in. 

Ah, the laughter in her eyes, 

And the wonder and surprise 

As she toddles through the waving 

grass in search of butterflies; 
And the flowers nod and sway 
In their love of her and say 
By their homage as she passes she's 

a fairer flower than they. 

Ah, the sweetness and the grace 

In her radiant little face 

As she scampers through the sunlight 

in her airy, fairy race; 
How the roguish laughter trips 
From the gateway of her lips 
Like the lilting of the robin 

through the leafy bough that slips. 



vJjf 

66 GIRL OF MINE 

And the birds in branches high 

Seem to join her merry cry, 

And to chirp a fearless greeting as 

she gaily toddles by; 
And so light her footsteps fall 
That the clover blossoms call: 
"See! She stepped on us in passing 

but we're scarcely bruised at all!" 



CHUMS 

HE lives acrost the street from us 
An' ain't as big as me; 
His mother takes in washin' 'cuz 
They're poor as they can be; 
But every night he brings his slate 

An' 'en I do his sums, 
An' help him get his lessons straight, 
'Cuz him an' me is chums. 

His clo'es ain't quite as good as mine, 

But I don't care for that; 
His mother makes his face 'ist shine, 

An' I lent him a hat. 
An' every mornin', 'ist by rule, 

Wen nine o'clock it comes, 
He takes my hand an' goes to school, 

'Cuz him an' me is chums. 

Nobody better plague him, too, 

No matter if he's small, 
'Cuz I'm his friend, for tried and true, 

An' 'at's th' reason all 
Th' boys don't dare to plague him, 'cuz 

I 'ist wait till he comes, 
An' he walks close to me, he does, 

'Cuz him an' me is chums. 



68 CHUMS 

He fell an' hurt hi'self one day 

Th' summer before last, 
An' 'at's w'at makes him limp 'at way 

An' don't grow very fast. 
So w'en I get a piece of pie, 

Or maybe nuts or plums, 
I always give him some, 'cuz I 

Get lots — an' we are chums. 

An' w'en it's nuttin' time, we go, 

An' I climb all th' trees, 
'Cuz he can't climb — he's hurt, you know 

But he gets all he sees 
Come droppin' down, an' my! he's glad; 

An' w'en th' twilight comes 
He says w'at a fine time he had, 

'Cuz him an' me is chums. 

But my! his mother's awful queer; 

'Cuz w'en we're home again, 
She wipes her eye — a great, big tear — 

An' says: "God bless you, Ben! 
Th' Lord will bless you all your days 

W'en th' great Judgment comes." 
But I say I don't need no praise, 

'Cuz him an' me is chums. 



THE LOST BOY 

LITTLE Boy Careless has strewn his blocks 
From end to end of the nursery; 
He has broken the top of the gaudy box 
That held sliced animals — My, Ah Me ! 
His wooden soldiers are seamed and scarred 

From battle with him, and his jumping-jack 
Is lodged half-way from a blow too hard, 
Nor all of my coaxing will get him back. 

Little Boy Careless has split his drum 

And bent the tube of his screeching fife 
Till all of its martial airs are dumb, 

And the doll that squeaked has lost her life 
From a mallet blow on her waxen head, 

And none of her sister dolls knows or cares 
How the sawdust in her is strewn and spread 

From the bedroom door to the hall downstairs. 

Little Boy Careless has gone away 

And Big Boy Hopeful has come to me, 
The toys that were scattered here yesterday 

Are stored up there in the nursery. 
The broken drum and the jumping-jack, 

The waxen doll in her crib alone, 
Nor Little Boy Careless will e'er come back 

To scatter the toys by his years outgrown. 



7 o THE LOST BOY 

And ah, but the heart of me aches and cries 

For the Little Boy Careless to come and play, 
The light of the dawn in his big, brown eyes, 

With the toys that are gathered and laid away. 
The Big Boy Hopeful will come to pine 

For the world out there„and will yearn to go, 
But the Little Boy Careless was mine, all mine, 

And that is the reason I loved him so! 



LINES TO A BABY GIRL 

OH, she has such a way with her! 
I stay with her 
And play with her, 
Her cheeks are round and dimpled and 
Her eyes are Heaven's blue; 
My life is spent quite half with her, 
I laugh with her 
And chaff with her, 

Till she looks up with laughing eyes, 
And all she says is "Goo!" 

Sometimes I try to walk with her, 
I talk with her 
And rock with her; 

She knows some way my love for her 

Is tender and is true. 
And so I sit and speak with her 
And seek with her 
The cheek of her 

To brush with little kisses and 

Quite all she says is "Goo!" 

She toddles in to share with me 
My chair with me; 
Her air with me 

Is that of queen imperious, 

My heart her subject true. 



72 LINES TO A BABY GIRL 

Upon the floor she lies with me 

And tries with me 

To rise with me 

When romping time is over, and 
She looks up and says "Goo!" 

Oh, she is such a part of me, 
The heart of me, 
And art of me 

Could not express my love for her, 

So tender and so true; 
She is the treasure blessed of me, 
Heart's guest of me, 
The best of me, 

This little baby girl of me 

Who looks up and says "Goo!" 



i 

LITTLE MISCHEFUSS 

SOMEBODY went and broke my doll, an' let 
her sawdust out 
On Mamma's floor an* my! there's sawdust 
scattered all about! 
Dess scandalous! An' bien by my Mamma'll come 

an' say: 
"I see 'at Little Mischefuss has been around today!" 

An' sometimes w'en th' sugar bowl's lef open, she 

says 'en: 
"I dess 'at Little Mischefuss has been around again!" 
An' my! I'm awful much surprised! an' ast how does 

she know, 
But she dess says a little bird flew in an' told her so ! 

i 
One time somebody went, she did, and broke my 

jumpin'-jack 
An' Mamma says: "I see 'at Little Mischefuss is 

back." 
An' w'en somebody spilled p'eserves right on the 

pantry shelf 
She says: "I see 'at Mischefuss has tried to he'p 

herself!" 

One day somebody tored my dress an' en she says: 

"I see 
'At Little Mischefuss is dess as busy as can be!" 



74 LITTLE MISCHEFUSS 

An' my! I'm awful much surprised an' ast how does 

she know, 
But she dess says a little bird flew in an' told her so! 

Somebody frowed my blocks out doors an* 'en 'ey 

dot all wet 
An' all peeled off tuz why it rained an' Mamma says 

she bet 
'At Little Mischefuss is back from Topsyturvytown 
An' mus' be hidin' in th' house or else somew'eres 

aroun'. 

Oncet Mamma's goin' t' spank her w'en she catches 

her, an' so 
I ast her not to tuz she's dess a little girl, you know, 
An' don't know any better 'an t' plague an' pester us, 
Till she dess laughs, tuz why she says I'm Little Mis- 
chefuss ! 



TIJK TRAVKLS OF MORTIMhR BROWN 

THIS is the story of Mortimer Brown 
Who went for his mothei some errands in 
town, 
Who was told he must conic ba< k as quick as he could 
And as earnestly promised his mothei lie would. 
He went down the front steps full three at a time 
And SWling On the ;-;i i e, for the swinging was prime. 

lie teetered on all the loose hoards in the walk 
And met Jimmy Brady and sat down to talk; 
He climbed up the trunk of a big tree that stands 
Not so f'ai from his home, and he swung with both 

hands. 

lie passed the cow pasture and stopped for a Stroll, 

Climbed the fence and turned twice on the very top 

pole. 

Then he tinned a few handsprings all through the 

long grass 
And sat on the fence to watch Petei Bates pass 
With a big flo< k of sheep, and he got himself chased 
By the biggest bla< k ram and he fell in hifl haste 
Down the hank of the brook and he sal there about 
I lalf an hour in the sun till his clothes were dried out. 
He laid off his coat since the day was so hot 
And chose a bypath through the strawberry plot; 



76 THE TRAVELS OF MORTIMER BROWN 

He gathered some berries to eat on his way 

Till alarmed by the watch-dog's deep, ominous bay. 

Then he followed a rabbit as far as he could 

Until it was lost in the depth of a wood, 

And marked a bee tree so to find it again 

When he and Jim Brady should visit Beech Glen. 

So tired then he was that he sat down to rest 

And he fell sound asleep with his coat and his vest 

Spread under his head, when the rumble of wheels 
On the road waked him up and he saw Elmer Beals 
Driving by in the lane and he climbed up beside 
On a big load of squashes and had a fine ride, 
And helped lead the horses to water as soon 
As they both reached the town in the late afternoon. 
And then, oh, alas ! The long list Mother wrote 
Of the things he should get had dropped out of his 
coat, 

So he bought some stick candy and cookies — he 

knew 
Of the things she would need they must surely be two, 
And munching them sadly the whole of the way 
Back homeward he wondered what Mother would say. 
I wonder if ever in country or town 
You have known such a lad as this Mortimer Brown ? 



ADVENTURERS THREE 

I KNOW a little sailor who has never been to sea, 
But walks the deck of our back porch as bold 
as he can be. 
He never shows a sign of fear when in the stoutest 

gale, 
Nor ever lost a ship, although he never reefed a sail. 
I've heard him send his crew aloft when fearful tem- 
pests blew, 
But though I've searched the rigging oft, I never saw 

the crew. 
I'm sure he is a sailor, for his mother showed to me 
His clothes, such as the sailors wear when they go 
forth to sea. 

I know a little hunter who has never fired a gun, 
But roams about our orchard with a painted wooden 

one; 
A hunter of such prowess that he hasn't left a bear, 
A tiger or an animal of that description there. 
I know he used to see them, for I've seen 

him creep and crawl, 
And finally destroy one that I never saw at all. 
I'm sure he was a hunter, for I saw his buckskins 

spread 
Just as a plainsman leaves them — on the foot-board 

of his bed. 



78 ADVENTURERS THREE 

I know a little soldier who has never been to war, 
But wears a splendid uniform, all buttoned down 

before. 
I've seen him drill in our back yard a dozen times a 

day, 
I've seen him march and counter in a military way. 
I've heard him shout commands with all a captain's 

dignity, 
But though I've searched the lawn, I never saw his 

company. 
I'm sure he was a soldier, for I saw the clothes he wore 
Last night beside his bed, when he had finished with 

the war. 

Sometimes he gets a wetting when the seas are very 

high, 
And has to have his sailor clothes hung on the line 

to dry, 
So he becomes a soldier and upon a march he goes, 
And what he is this moment quite depends upon his 

clothes. 
He never shoots a lion when he wears a sailor suit, 
Or walks the deck in buckskins, which he only wears 

to shoot, 
And never thinks of drilling or of marching ofT to war 
Unless he wears his uniform with buttons down 

before. 



WHEN THEY LOVE YOU SO 

ONE time I'm awful sick in bed, 
An' sometimes I'm delirious, 
'Cuz I got fever in my head, 
An' when I'm th' most serious 
My Pa, he sits beside of me 

An' 'en he rubs my head, an' 'en 
He says when I get well, why, he 
Won't ever scold his boy again. 

An' 'en my Ma, she rubs my head 

'1st burnin' hot, an' 'en her chin 
'1st shivers an' she says : " Poor Ned ! 

His little hands so white an' thin!" 
An' 'en she says she never knew 

How precious 'ist a boy could be, 
An' when I'm well she's goin' t' do 

'1st what I want her to for me. 

An' by and by my Aunty comes 

An' says when I get well why she 
Don't care if I have twenty drums, 

An' she will buy a sled for me. 
An' my big sister's goin' t' buy 

A really pony 'ist as quick 
As ever doctor says 'at I 

Am well again from bein' sick. 



80 WHEN THEY LOVE YOU SO 

An' even our old hired man 

Comes in an' stays a while with me, 
Whenever doctor says he can, 

Tst kind an' gentle as can be, 
'Cuz once he had a boy, an' 'en 

He had th' fever an' 'at's why 
He's awful kind to me an' when 

He sees me, why he starts t' cry. 

An' even teacher comes to see 

Me on her way from school, an' 'en 
She says it won't be hard for me 

When I come back to school again. 
'Cuz she won't make my lessons long, 

Or keep me after school; an' she 
Tst wants me to get well an' strong 

An' 'en she stoops an' kisses me. 

An' 'at's th' way you really know 

How much they love you, when your head 
Tst burnin' up an' you can't go 

Nowheres except to stay in bed. 
An' even if you're awful bad 

An' hot with fever, why, you know, 
It makes you feel 'ist sweet an' glad 

Becuz they all 'ist love you so. 



SOMEBODY DID 

SOMEBODY stood up right on top of a chair 
An' reached in the cooky-jar, way, way up 
there, 
Wen nobody's lookin' an' Mamma's asleep, 
An' all of us chinnern wuz playin' Bo-peep 
Now'eres near the pantry; an' try in' to get 
Some cookies, an' someway the jar got upset, 
An' my! it 'ist busted all over the floor. 
But John, he ain't scairt; an' he rapped on the door, 
Wile all of us chinnern we runned off an' hid, 
An' 'en he says: "Ma, see w'at Somebody did!" 

An* all of us chinnern we runned off an' hid, 

'Cuz we don't know who done it — but Somebody did ! 

Somebody crawled up in the big leather chair 
By the lib'ary table w'at stood over there 
Wen we wuz a-playin' now'eres near the ink 
An' Mamma was sewin' — an' w'at do you think? 
Somebody upset it and knocked it, 'ist Chug! 
Right off'n the table an' down on the rug, 
An' my! it 'ist busted an' runned everyw'eres. 
But John, he ain't scairt; an' he runned right up- 
stairs, 
Wile all of us chinnern we runned off an' hid, 
An' 'en he says: "Ma, see w'at Somebody did!" 



82 SOMEBODY DID 

An' all of us chinnern we runned off an' hid, 
'Cuz we don't know who done it — but Somebody 
did! 

An' wunst w'en the kitchen wuz all scrubbed so 

clean, 
The floor wuz 'ist shiny as ever you seen, 
An' we wuz all playin' outdoors in the street, 
Somebody went in with the muddies' feet 
An' tracked it all over the floor, 'ist a sight; 
An' my! when we seen it we 'ist shook with fright, 
'Cuz none of us chinnern went near it all day. 
But John, he ain't scairt; an' he went right away, 
Wile all of us chinnern we runned off an' hid, 
An' 'en he says: "Ma, see w'at Somebody did!" 

An' all of us chinnern we runned off an' hid, 
'Cuz we don't know who done it — but Somebody 
did! 



THE WADERS 

THE queerest things rained down all over our 
street, 
With long legs, like spiders, and muddy 
brown feet; 
They must have rained down, for I saw them all run 
Through puddles and mud ere the shower was done. 
They're some sort of Waders, and all over town 
Through pools and deep gutters they splash up and 

down, 
Bareheaded, barelegged, barefooted and wet, 
The Waders of Frogpond — I hear them splash yet. 

The rain fell in torrents, the gutters' deep tides 
Were black, and the rain barrels ran o'er their sides, 
The frothy white waters whirled from the eavespout, 
But with the first lull all the Waders came out. 
They danced in the frogponds, they sounded the 

streams 
In gutters and made the air shrill with their screams, 
They rolled up their dresses and trousers and dashed 
Through mud, froth and water, and waded and 

splashed. 

And forth with the Waders came all kinds of dogs, 
Came sailors with bark boats, came navies of frogs. 
Came big rubber boots on such tiny brown legs, 
Came floating armadas of cans and half-kegs; 



84 THE WADERS 

Came long poles for sounding, came all sorts of crafts, 

Unseaworthy boxes made over to rafts, 

I wonder if ever in my life again 

I'll see so much gladness come down with the rain. 

They must have rained down, for a minute ago 
The frogpond was dry and deserted, you know; 
There wasn't a Wader, a dog or a craft, 
A pair of gum boots, a bark boat or a raft; 
The eave's but done dripping, scarce dry is the spout, 
When lo, all the navy of Waders is out! 
The pond's full of ships as the old Spanish Main. 
Who'd think so much fun could come down with the 
rain? 




THE WAD E RS 



THE PRISONED PUPIL 

SHE kept him aftur skool when awl the burds 
Were singen swetely in the woods an wurds 
Kood not deskribe his sufferens. the air 
Was full uv blossums an the urth was fare 
Ecksept to himm. becaws he did not no 
His jogafy she wood not let him go 
An when he hurd us cloas the dore the teers 
Rolld down his cheeks an he livd menny yeers 
In just a singul owr. it was like sum 
Old torchure ur sum krewel marturdum. 

How kood he study when he noo that we 
Were goen gayly homewurd glad an free 
Wile he was kept a prizzuner becaws 
He did not no ware venna zweela was. 
An when he thot uv how weere ap too go 
In swimmen aftur skool his greef an wo 
Was almoast moar than he kood bare an yet 
She sturnly kept him thare an wood not let 
Him leev his seet altho he felt he must 
An so she bowd his spearut in the dust. 

An aftur wile when its too late to play 
She lookt at him in sutch a skornful way 
Az tho he was a krimminle an sed 
He mite go home, his proud and hotty hed 



86 THE PRISONED PUPIL 

Was bent with greef and he went slowly owt 
The skoolroom dore and then lookt awl abowt 
Az tho releest from prizzen an the brand 
Uv sin on him was moar than he kood stand. 
An he went sloly homewurd bowd with shaim 
O liburtey the krimes dun in thi naim. 



A PRAYER FOR JIMMY BANKS 

DEAR Lord, excuse Jim Banks and me 
For hitting Aunty Griggs when we 
Threw snowballs at the cat, because 
We did not know where Aunty was ! 

Jim Banks and me are sorry, Lord, 
For drawing Teacher on the board, 
And after what we got, we do 
Not need more punishment from you! 

Excuse Jim Banks especially, 
Because his mother's dead and he 
Just heard of you the other day 
And is too bashful yet to pray! 

But you would like him if you knew 
Jim Banks as well as we all do. 
And if you have some clothes to spare 
Remember him, for he's quite bare! 

He says old shoes will help him some, 
And some worn pants; and he will come 
Most any night, but where he stays 
He earns his keep by working days! 



88 A PRAYER FOR JIMMY BANKS 

And if there is an angel there 
Who might like him and you can spare, 
Would you mind telling this to him 
And see what he can do for Jim ? 

And Jimmy's hat is straw and old, 
You know the weather's pretty cold, 
And Jimmy's ears stick out into 
The weather, and his nose gets blue! 

Dear Lord, please do the very best 
You can for him! I've got a vest 
And sweater on the closet shelf 
That I am going to give myself! 

And beg your pardon, Lord, and pray 
My soul to keep; and Jimmy may 
Be President some day, and then 
We'll all be proud of him. Amen! 








i / 



A CHILD'S CHRISTMAS PRAYER 

DEAR Lord, be good to Santa Claus, 
He's been so good to me; 
I never told him so because 
He is so hard to see. 
He must love little children so 

To come through snow and storm; 
Please care for him when cold winds blow 
And keep him nice and warm. 

Dear Lord, be good to him and good 

To Mary Christmas, too. 
I'd like to tell them, if I could, 

The things I'm telling you. 
They've both been very good to me, 

And everywhere they go 
They make us glad; — no wonder we 

All learn to love them so. 

Please have him button up his coat 

So it will keep him warm; 
And wear a scarf about his throat 

If it should start to storm. 
And when the night is dark, please lend 

Him light if stars are dim, 
Or maybe sometimes you could send 

An Angel down with him. 



9 o A CHILD'S CHRISTMAS PRAYER 

Please keep his heart so good and kind 

That he will always smile; 
And tell him maybe we will find 

And thank him after while. 
Please keep him safe from harm and keep 

Quite near and guard him when 
He's tired and lays him down to sleep. 

Dear Lord, please do! Amen. 



HENRY BLAKE'S CHUM 

HENRY BLAKE'S chum he had awful red 
hair, 
And most of his clothes were too small; 
And often and often he wore his feet bare 

Until it was late in the fall. 
But he would just whistle as though he had shoes, 

Was never discouraged or glum; 
And most any boy would be sorry to lose 
A fellow like Henry Blake's chum. 

Henry Blake's chum, he knew all about trees, 

And woodticks and crickets and birds, 
And all of the things that a boy really sees 

But can't always tell them in words; 
And he knew where fish were the most apt to bite, 

And when the first blackberries come, 
And how to catch birds in a trap when they light — 

No wonder he's good for a chum. 

Henry Blake's chum, he had rabbits for pets, 

And crows that he taught how to speak, 
And dogs that will haul you, and he often gets 

A new dog or two every week. 
And often he crawls up and catches a frog 

Between his first finger and thumb, 
Where it may be sitting alone on a log; 

And my! Henry's proud of his chum! 



92 HENRY BLAKE'S CHUM 

Henry Blake's chum, he knew all about flowers 

And always could tell you their name, 
And didn't mind thunder or lightning or showers 

Because he said it's all the same 
So long as you're barefoot and haven't much clothes. 

And he knew how partridges drum, 
And whistled just like a Bob White's whistle goes — 

No wonder he's somebody's chum. 

Henry Blake's chum, he came up from the farm, 

And my ! he was awful ashamed 
In school not to know the big bone in your arm 

Or what the equator was named. 
But when it came recess we all stood about 

And waited until he would come, 
And he told us things we had never found out — 

And my! Henry's proud of his chum! 



ONCE UPON A TIME 

ONCE upon a time rare flowers grew 
On every shrub and bush we used to see; 
The skies above our heads were always blue, 
The woods held secrets deep for you and me; 
The hillsides had their caves where tales were told 

Of swart-cheeked pirates from a far-off clime, 
When cutlases were fierce and rovers bold — 
Don't you remember? — Once upon a time. 

Once upon a time from sun to sun 

The hours were full of joy — there was no care, 
And webs of gaudy dreams in air were spun 

Of deeds heroic and of fortunes fair; 
The jangling schoolhouse bell was all the woe 

Our spirits knew, and in its tuneless chime 
Was all the sorrow of the long ago — 

Don't you remember? — Once upon a time. 

Once upon a time the witches rode 

In sinister and ominous parade 
Upon their sticks at night, and queer lights glowed 

With eery noises by the goblins made; 
And many things mysterious there were 

For boyish cheeks to pale at through the grime 
That held them brown; and shadows queer would 
stir — 

Don't you remember? — Once upon a time. 



94 ONCE UPON A TIME 

Once upon a time our faith was vast 

To compass all the things on sea and land 
That boys have trembled o'er for ages past, 

Nor ever could explain or understand, 
And in that faith found happiness too deep 

For all the gifted tongues of prose or rime, 
And joys ineffable we could not keep — 

Don't you remember? — Once upon a time. 




ONCE UPON A TIME 



THE WAY TO SCHOOL 

FIVE minutes chasing butterflies 
Way over, off the road; 
Five minutes watching Willie Price 
Do tricks with his pet toad ; 
Five minutes helping Gibbsie get 

His pig back in the pen — 
I wonder if it's school-time yet? 
I guess I'm late again. 

I think I lost a little time 

Because I walked so slow 
Where Johnny Watkins lost a dime 

A day or two ago. 
It's underneath the leaves somewhere, 

And Johnny feels so blue 
That I just stopped a minute there 

Because he asked me to. 

And then it rained a little bit, 

And Dominick McPhee 
Had his straw hat and had to sit 

Under a good thick tree, 
Or else he'd get it spoiled and get 

The top all swelled. You see, 
A straw hat is not safe to wet — 

His kind, especially. 



96 THE WAY TO SCHOOL 

And after we had saved his hat 

From getting spoiled for him, 
A big woodpecker came and sat 

Upon a rotten limb; 
And Johnny said when they're about, 

Somebody told the boys, 
You see a lot of worms come out 

To see what makes the noise. 

So then we boys all stayed about 

A couple minutes more, 
In hopes to see the worms come out 

Which he was rapping for; 
But after he went b-r-r-r! and b-r-r-r! 

A while, he flew away, 
And Johnny said he guessed there were 

No worms at home that day. 

So then we hurried up, and ran 

As fast as we could run, 
To get there just as school began. 

And just when it's begun 
I had to run back to the tree 

To get my slate and rule; 
And yet the teacher cannot see 

Why boys are late for school. 



A PRESENT FOR LITTLE BOY BLUE 

OUR Neighbor, he calls me his Little Boy Blue 
Whenever he goes by our yard; 
And he says, "Good-morning" or "How-do- 
you-do?" 
But sometimes he winks awful hard. 
I guess he don't know what my name really is, 

Or else he forgot, if he knew; 
And my! You would think I am really part his — 
He calls me his Little Boy Blue! 

Our Neighbor, he told me that Little Boy Blue 

Once stood all his toys in a row, 
And said, "Now, don't go till I come back for you" — 

But that was a long time ago. 
And one time, at Christmas, when I had a tree, 

He brought me a sled, all brand-new, 
And smiled when he said it was partly for me 

And partly for Little Boy Blue. 

Our Neighbor, he's not going to have any tree, 

So he says the best he can do 
Is try to get something to partly give me 

And partly give Little Boy Blue, 
Because, if he's here, it would make him so glad, 

And he said he knew it was true 
That ever and ever so many folks had 

A boy just like Little Boy Blue. 



98 A PRESENT FOR LITTLE BOY BLUE 

Our Neighbor, he calls me his Little Boy Blue, 

And said he would like to help trim 
Our tree when it came — he would feel that he knew 

It was partly for me and for him. 
He said he would fix it with lights and wax flowers, 

With popcorn and berries — you see, 
He'd like to come over and help to trim ours — 

He's not going to have any tree! 



THE EVOLUTION OF AN ADOPTION 



H 



E'S 'ist a little orfant boy 
Wat goes to school with me; 
An' ain't got any parents 'cuz 
His folks is dead, you see. 
An' w'en he sees my toys an' things — 

My, but his eyes 'ist shine; 
An' he ain't got no marbles, so 
I give him half of mine. 

An ? once it's orful stormy w'en 

It's noon an' he can't go 
Back where he works for board an' clo'es 

To get his lunch, an' so 
I had some san'wiches an' things 

'At he thought was 'ist fine, 
An' 'cuz he didn't have no lunch 

I give him half of mine. 

An' once w'en we went down to fish 

He come along with me, 
An' w'en we're there says he 'ist wish 

'At he could fish. You see 
He's orful poor an' brought a pole 

But didn't have a line, 
An' w'en I saw how bad he felt 

I give him half of mine. 



ioo THE EVOLUTION OF AN ADOPTION 

An' one time I 'ist told my Ma 

How he don't have much fun 
'Cuz he ain't got no Ma or Pa 

Or Aunt or any one. 
An' 'en I told her how I thought 

'At it would be 'ist fine 
'Cuz he ain't got no mother if 

I'd give him half of mine. 

He ain't my brother, really true, 

He's 'ist an orfant, so 
My Ma she took him, 'cuz she knew 

He had no place to go. 
I'm awful glad we got him an' 

My Pa thinks it 'ist fine — 
He didn't have no mother, so 

I give him half of mine. 



SOME GIRLS THAT MAMMA KNEW 

MY Mamma says 'at once 'ere was 
A little girl she knew 
Who went an' cried, an* 'ist because — 
Because she wanted to; 
An' w'ile her face was all askew 

The wind changed, so they say, 
An' Mamma told me 'at it's true, 
Her face 'ist staid 'at way! 

An' w'en she told me 'at, w'y nen 
I said I'll never cry again. 

My Mamma said 'at once she heard 

A little girl like me 
Tell 'ist one fib, an' says, my word ! 

Her Mamma looked to see 
Were was her tongue, an' goodness me ! 

Her mouth was 'ist all bare, 
An' w'ere her tongue 'ud ought to be 

There wasn't any there! 

An' w'en she told me 'at, w'y nen 
I said I'll never fib again ! 

My Mamma knew a little girl 

'At used to run away 
W'en her dear mother 'd start to curl 

Her hair; an' one fine day 



102 SOME GIRLS THAT MAMMA KNEW 

Some gypsies took her off, somehow, 

An' stole her from her home, 
An' my! Her hair is awful now, 
'Cause gypsies never comb ! 

An' since she told me 'at, w ? y nen 
I never runned away again ! 

An' never don't make fun, she says, 

Of folks 'at's blind or lame, 
Or got red hair or warts, unless 

You want to be the same. 
'Cause lots of times it happens so, 

An' surely if you do, 
You never, never, never know 

What's going to happen you. 

An' since she told me 'at, w'y nen 
I never don't make fun again. 



GONE 

HE fell in a puddle and muddied his dress, 
He struck little Bob with a hammer, I guess; 
He cut sister's curls with a big pair of shears 
And left ragged edges down over her ears; 
He muddied the floor that was just scrubbed so clean, 
He lighted a match near the canned gasoline, 
He broke all his soldiers and smashed all his toys, 
And yet we forgave him, for boys will be boys. 

He singed the cat's whiskers and cut off its tail 
And then turned it loose with its discordant wail; 
He dropped bread and jelly upon a big chair 
And thought of it only when Aunty sat there; 
He sheared the pet poodle one midwinter day, 
His father is frantic, his mother is gray, 
His Aunt and his Grandma protest at his noise, 
And then all forgive him, for boys will be boys. 

He clamors for cookies, for jelly and jam, 
He shuts ne'er a door, but he gives it a slam, 
He dabbles in paint, be it red, blue or green, 
He loves to play hob with the sewing machine; 
And then — well, he's gone into trousers and vests, 
For years must be passing and time never rests, 
And some day we look at a picture — and then 
We wish — strange it is — that we had him again. 



THE NEIGHBOR'S BOYS 

SOMEBODY shot our cat's eye out, 
An' stole our gate an' just about 
Scared Aunt Sophia Jane to death 
So's she could hardly get her breath, 
By puttin' on some sheets, all white, 
'At just gave her a turble fright, 
An' who on earth do you suppose 
Put on them big, white ghostes' clothes 
An' made that turble screechy noise ? 
The neighbor's boys! 

An' every night it's dark, you know, 
Somebody plays some tick-tack-toe 
On folkeses' windows what's a-scared, 
An' just as if they never cared 
If they get caught or not, an' when 
You're gone to bed they come again 
Until you're just so nervous you 
Don't hardly know just what to do; 
An' who makes such a scary noise? 
The neighbor's boys. 

An' 'en somebody tears your clothes 
An' skins your face an' hurts your nose 
Until it bleeds, an' then your Ma 
Says 'at she never, never saw 



THE NEIGHBOR'S BOYS 105 

Such heathen youngsters, an* they come 
An' break your sled an' pound your drum 
Until it busts, an' wont go 'way, 
It ain't no matter what you say, 

An' they're the ones 'at break your toys — 
The neighbor's boys. 

An' my, it's funny, 'cause, you know 
You ain't the only ones 'at's so. 

'Cause all the next door neighbors say 

It seems e'zactly the same way, 
An' when their boys gets hurted so's 
It gives 'em turble bloody nose, 

An' some one shoots their cat's eye out, 

An' plays tick-tack, they know about 
Who does it an' who makes the noise — 
The neighbor's boys! 



A QUIET AFTERNOON 

MY Mamma, she did go to call about an hour 
ago ' . 
An' said if I ain't bad at all an' stayed at 

home with Flo, 
Which is the maid that cooks for us, she'd bring me 

something good, 
But if I'm one bit misschefuss she didn't think she 

would. 

An' my! I'm still, 'ist like a mouse. I never went 

outdoors, 
But 'ist sat down, inside the house, an' took her 

bureau drawers 
An' emptied 'em 'ist one by one, an' w'en they're 

emptied 'en 
I 'ist looked through what's there for fun an' put 'em 

back again! 

An' 'en I found the nicest ink, an' one of 'em was 

red, 
An' one was black an' 'en I think I spilt some on the 

bed, 
But my! I wiped it up, 'ist so, an' sopped it with a 

quilt 
So clean you wouldn't hardly know it's ever once 

been spilt. 



A QUIET AFTERNOON 107 

Well, 'en I looked up on the shelf an' found her scis- 
sors there 

An' got 'em down all by myself an' cut off all my hair, 

'Tuz I don't think it's nice for girls like me 'at's 
almost through 

First reader to wear such a curls like Mamma makes 
me do. 

'En Flo gave me some bread and jam, 'tuz I 'ist cried 
and cried 

'1st tuz I'm hungry now, I am, an' 'en I went inside, 

An' maybe I did let it lay around the room some- 
where, 

'Tuz Flo came in to watch me play and squoshed it 
on a chair. 

An' after while I wish my Ma would 'ist come back, 

she would, 
'Tuz my, I'm gettin' drefful tired of simply bein' 

good. 
My eyes, 'ey're 'ist so full of sand an' heavy, 'ist like 

lead, 
Oh-oh! I dess it's Sleepyland! I dess I'll go to bed! 



THE OWNERLESS TOYS 

OUR Uncle Bill's attic is half full of toys, 
With some that are almost brand-new; 
He's got things up there for most all kinds 
of boys 
From ten years old clear down to two. 
And one day he gave me some books from up 
there 
Like boys had a long time ago; 
And I asked if the boy they belong to would care, 
But he just sort of smiled and said no. 

Sometimes we would go in his attic to play 

And find such a lot of fine things, 
A whole lot of picture books all piled away 

And tops that were wound up with strings. 
And Uncle Bill told us to use what was there 

Just as if it was ours, and we'd go, 
But we'd ask if the boy they belong to would care, 

And he just sort of smiled and said no. 

And my! There were sleds with their runners all 
rust, 
And five or six good pairs of skates, 
Some old-fashioned toys that were covered with 
dust, 
And fishlines and schoolbooks and slates, 



THE OWNERLESS TOYS 109 

Which Uncle Bill told us we fellows might share, 

But always put back when we go; 
And we thought that the boy they belong to might 
care, 

But he just sort of smiled and said no. 

And the boy they belong to, I guess, was away. 

At least, we all thought he must be; 
For all through the house they could hear us at play, 

But he never came up there to see. 
And we would pile everything back up with care 

And ask Uncle Bill when we'd go 
If the boy they belong to would know we'd been there, 

But he just sort of smiled and said no. 

Our Uncle Bill's attic is half full of toys, 

Some old ones and some almost new; 
He's got things up there for most all kinds of boys 

From ten years old clear down to two. 
And often when we boys go up there to play 

We ask Uncle Bill when we go 
If the boy they belong to will be back that day, 

And he smiles sort of sad and says no. 



THE STRANGER 

SERIOUS-MINDED little maid, 
Wondering and half afraid, 
Half inclined to speak with me, 
Half disposed to J.et me be; 
Hesitating yet, and shy, 
Half a twinkle in your eye, 
Half in doubt and half in fear, 
Staying neither far nor near. 

How I wonder what you see 
With those eyes that question me; 
What the instinct bids you know 
If I may be friend or foe; 
Fawnlike, full of grace and sweet, 
Ready with fast-flying feet 
In the orchard's deepest shade 
To find cover, little maid. 

Grave and curious little lass, 
Like a wild bird in the grass, 
Still intently watching me, 
With your wings half spread, to see 
If my smile bodes good or ill, 
Willing to make friends and still 
Undecided if to stay 
Here and near or fly away. 



'If IK STRANOKK m 

Serious-minded little maid, 
When, with smile/-, and unafraid, 
O'er the lawn you come to me, 
St ciiii'd to you though I he, 
When your curious eyes have tried 
Soul with mine and, satisfied, 
Looked '.'ill into mine and smiled, 
Blessed am I, little < hild. 

Blessed am I to he just 
Worthy <>\ youi ( hildish trust, 
More than < onqueror of kin,"/. 
When the wild hird of your winjr, 
Bids you f]y not forth hut see 
Something tender, kind, in me; 
Oh, the gladness you ha v- laid 
At my heart's f/ate, little maid! 



IN VACATION TIME 

THERE'S a hole in his hat with the hair stick- 
ing through, 
And a toe that peeps out from a hole in his 
shoe; 
There's a patch in his trousers, a darn in his hose, 
And a freckle that tilts on the bridge of his nose; 
But oh, in his heart there's the glimmer and shine 
Of a sun that I wish could be shining in mine. 

There's a smudge on his face that is dusty and 

dark, 
But a song in his heart like the song of a lark; 
There's a rent in his coat where the lining shows 

through, 
But the whistle he tunes to the wild bird is true; 
And, oh, in his heart, with a sparkle like wine, 
Is a gladness I wish could be sparkling in mine. 

There's an imp in his hair that may keep it awry, 
But a twinkle so rare in the blue of his eye; 
There's an uneven slant of his trousers, made fast 
With a nail through their tops, for a button won't 

last; 
But deep in his heart lies a spring cool and fine 
Of good cheer that I wish could be bubbling in 

mine. 



IN VACATION TIME 113 

There's a tan on his cheek where the flush of health 

glows, 
And the skin has all peeled from the tip of his nose; 
His pockets are bulged with tops, marbles and strings, 
With jack-knives and other uncountable things; 
But the brooks and the woods bring a music divine 
To his ears that I wish they were bringing to mine. 



BEREAVED 

I GUESS he must be awful old; we had him years 
and years, 
And he's so old the ends were worn all off of 
both his ears. 
He couldn't hardly eat, because his teeth were all 

worn out, 
And all his legs got stiff, so he could hardly drag 

about. 
One day he lay down by the house, right near the 

cellar door, 
And gasped and gasped for breath, until he couldn't 

any more; 
So I went out and patted him, and when he heard 

me call 
He looked at me and wagged his tail, which died the 
last of all. 

My! he was black and curly once, when he was new 

and young, 
And he would open up his mouth at us and curl his 

tongue, 
Just like he laughed, and play with us; and he would 

go into 
The creek, and bring our hats to us, or anything we 

threw. 
In winter we would hitch him up, and he would haul 

our sled, 



BEREAVED 115 

And walk or trot or run with it, or anything we said; 
So when he wagged his tail at me I laid him right 

beside 
The cellar door, and then I went behind the barn and 

cried. 

He was a friend of all the boys, and when they came 

to play 
He'd wag his tail and bark and look at them the 

smartest way; 
And he'd pretend to bite at them and nip their pants, 

but he 
Would never bite, 'cause he was just as kind as he 

could be. 
And Henry Watson looked at him beside the cellar 

door, 
And said, " He'll never haul us boys on our sled any 

more." 
He turned his ears back straight and nice; he liked 

him awful well; 
Because he had tears in his eyes, and then a big one 

fell. 

So after while we got a spade, and Billy Gibson came, 

And Tommy Dean and Eddie Brink, and they all 
felt the same. 

We dug some turf up in the yard, right underneath 
a tree, 

And laid him in and left him there, all covered care- 
fully; 



u6 BEREAVED 

It was an awful solemn day for all of us, for though 
He'd got worn out and couldn't eat, we boys all liked 

him so; 
And Eddie Brink, he didn't think the Lord would 

really care 
If we boys sang a hymn for him and said a little 

prayer. 

My! it was awful sad that day! And Tommy said he 

thought 
We wouldn't play that afternoon, because he'd rather 

not. 
And Mamma made some nice ice-cream, which cheered 

us up, but when 
We wanted her to eat she said she couldn't eat just 

then. 
And Amy Robbins heard of it, and brought some 

leaves and flowers 
To scatter over him, because he was a friend of ours; 
And I told her I patted him, and when he heard me 

call 
He looked at me and wagged his tail, which died the 

last of all. 



TWO LITTLE MAIDS 

LITTLE Miss Nothing-to-do 
Is fretful and cross and so blue, 
And the light in her eyes 
Is all dim when she cries 
And her friends, they are few, Oh, so few! 
Her dolls, they are nothing but sawdust and clothes, 
Whenever she wants to go skating it snows, 
And everything's criss-cross, the world is askew! 
I wouldn't be Little Miss Nothing-to-do 
Now, true, 

I wouldn't be Little Miss Nothing-to-do 
Would you? 

Little Miss Busy-all-day 

Is cheerful and happy and gay 

And she isn't a shirk 

For she smiles at her work 

And she romps when it comes time for play. 

Her dolls, they are princesses, blue-eyed and fair, 

She makes them a throne from a rickety chair, 

And everything happens the jolliest way, 

I'd rather be Little Miss Busy-all-day, 

Hurray, 

I'd rather be Little Miss Busyrall-day, 

I say. 



A NEW CHRISTMAS CAROL 

COME, children, I'll tell you a wonderful tale, 
I learned it one night in a dream; 
The snow lay all white and the full moon 
shone pale, 
The housetops about were agleam; 
I'd fallen asleep in my big easy chair, 

I heard a gruff voice in my ear, 
I knew that Saint Nicholas surely was there 
And listened to see what I'd hear. 

"Come, follow with me," were the first words he 
said, 

"I'm off for my Palace of Snow; 
I've emptied my pack of each doll, toy and sled, 

It's time for old Santa to go. 
But, Oh, I've a treat waiting for me tonight, 

I've planned it for years in my mind; 
Come, follow with me, while the moon is still 
bright" — 

I rose and we sped like the wind. 

We flew like a flash to the Palace of Snow, 

By hilltop and valley and .plain, 
Nor ever I will be permitted, I know, 

To make such a journey again; 
And there in the warmest and cosiest nook 



A NEW CHRISTMAS CAROL 119 

He bade me sit down while he dressed 
In robes of rich scarlet and said to me: "Look! 
Here come the Child Hosts of the Blest." 

A flash of his eye and my wonderment grew, 

A word and a wave of his rod, 
Forth came Orphan Annie and Little Boy Blue, 

And Wynlcen and Blynken and Nod. 
With Alice from Wonderland, blue-eyed and fair, 

Tom Tucker — Jack Horner with him, 
And Oh, at the last, can you guess who was there? — 

Poor Topsy and Dear Tiny Tim! 

He spread out his arms and they passed one by one, 

Each laden with treasures and toys, 
And never or ever a night of such fun 

Was passed by such girls and such boys; 
Nor ever will Annie be orphan with him, 

He told me, and Little Boy Blue 
Came back from the shadows all misty and dim, 

So glad that the toy dog was true. 

And always and always he'll keep them with him, 

He told me, through all of the years, 
Poor Topsy and Alice and Dear Tiny Tim, 

And Topsy will know no more tears. 
But tales of them all he will bring Christmas night, 

The brightest and sweetest and best, 
That our boys and girls may know joy and delight 

From Santa's Child Hosts of the Blest! 



THE RECONCILIATION OF PA 

MY Pa, he's disappointed tuz I ain't a boy. 
: At is 
He ain't now but he used to was. He likes 

me tuz I'm his 
An' buys me lots of toys an' things; but w'en I first 

begun 
Ma said he's awful fond of boys an' 'ist wished I was 

one. 
But now he don't care any more, tuz I'm growed up 

so nice 
He likes me better 'n before, an' there ain't any price 
'At you could offer him for me an' he would take it, 

tuz 
I'm so much nicer, don't you see, 'an my Pa thought 

I was. 

W'en I'm come first my Mamma said 'at he 'ud 

ruther I 
'Ud been a boy the stork 'ud brought; she says she 

don't see w'y, 
Tuz she 'ist thinks 'at little girls are awful nice, an' 

w'en 
You wash 'eir face an' brush 'eir turls, 'ey're nicer 'n 

ever 'en. 
But he is disappointed tuz at first he didn't know 
How rilly truly nice I was; but w'en I came to grow 



THE RECONCILIATION OF PA 121 

He wouldn't take the world for me, so he told Ma, 
'ist tuz 

I'm so rnu' h nicer, don't you see, 'an my Pa thought 
I was. 

An' my Ma says 'at if I grow up 'ist so nice an' sweet 
As I am now, my Pa 'II know 'at stork was hard to 

heat; 
An' he won't never wish again 'at I'm a hoy, 'ist tuz 
He'll know how sweet I am, an' 'en he's glad I'm 

w'at I was, 
'I uz hoys are awful nice at first, 'at is, you think they 

are, 

An' w'en they're big they're 'ist the wotst\ An' girls 

U hcttcr far, 
An' Ma says if you want 'ern sv/eet, 'ist sweet as 

sv/eet can he, 
You'll find it awful hard to beat a little girl like me. 



A WORLD WITHOUT CARE 

THERE'S a song that is sweet 
And a whistle that's clear; 
There's a dog at his feet 
And another one near; 
There's a fish in the brook 

And a line that is whirled, 
There's a worm on a hook — 
All is well with the world. 

There's a rock that has slipped 

From the bank to the brink, 
There's a hat that is dipped 

In the brook for a drink; 
There's a line that is cast 

Where an eddy is swirled, 
There's a fat perch caught fast — 

All is well with the world. 

There's a heartful of joy 

And a handful of fish, 
There's a satisfied boy 

Glad as gladness could wish; 
There are leaves green and cool 

Where the fat perch is curled, 
There are more in the pool — 

All is well with the world. 



A WORLD WITHOUT CARE 123 

There's an angler come home 

At the close of the day, 
There's a chirp in the gloam 

Of a whistle so gay, 
There's a monster near-caught 

Where the foam danced and curled. 
There's a meal piping hot — 

All is well with the world. 



RIGHT AFTER SCHOOL 

I KNOW where's the happiest Kingdom in all of 
the world I have seen, 
No bigger than Grandfather's orchard, and all 
of it's grassy and green, 
It has but a few dozen people, the happiest young- 
sters alive, 
'Tis ruled by a Princess of seven, and one little soldier 

of five; 
There's one little crown made of daisies and one little 

sword made of tin, 
And one little drum that goes rolling betimes with a 

terrible din; 
You'd think that a war was beginning by all of the 

noise that is made, 
When, really, it's only the army declaring itself on 
parade. 

In all of the bounds of the Kingdom there isn't a 

book or a chore; 
The reign of the Princess begins when the schoolday 

is over at four; 
Her castle with turrets and towers is right near a big 

apple tree. 
It isn't a visible castle, but if you were there you 

could see; 



RIGHT AFTER SCHOOL 125 

And if you should chance to be looking that way 
when the proud Princess comes, 

You'd see a bold soldier go marching and hear a 
fierce rattle of drums, 

You'd see loyal subjects and happy, with no thought 
of table or rule, 

You'd want to belong to the Kingdom — the King- 
dom of Right-After-School! 

It's really a well-behaved people < — they put by their 
slates and their books 

And have little use for an army except as a matter of 
looks; 

But nobody dares say addition, division, subtrac- 
tion — if you 

Should mention a one of these subjects the tin sword 
would run you right through! 

But you can say swinging or jumping or follow-my- 
leader, nor fear 

You break any law of the country — and if from 
your window you hear 

A chorus of voices or laughter, when evening grows 
twilit and cool, 

You'll know 'tis the music they make in the King- 
dom of Right-After-School! 

There's not a sad heart in the Kingdom, nor ever or 
ever a tear, 

And all of the sorrows of schooldays are lost or for- 
gotten in here; 



126 RIGHT AFTER SCHOOL 

The make-believe fairies go singing with songs that 
are wondrously sweet; 

The green turf is flecked with white dresses and pat- 
ters with fast-flying feet; 

It's just between School's-Out and Teatime — an 
hour or so of the day, 

And often I see them there crowning with daisies the 
Princess of Play; 

Then some one calls: "Supper-time, children!" — 
when evening grows twilit and cool. 

It fades from my sight till tomorrow — the Kingdom 
of Right-After-School! 



A PLEA FOR OLD FRIENDS 

I WAS fond, indeed, of Paul Revere, 
In the days of my earlier age, 
And the picture of him stands out clear 
From the old school reader page; 
And I've seen the light in the belfry tower, 

I've heard the hoof beats, too, 
But, alas ! alas ! in an evil hour, 
They say it's all untrue! 

And Barbara Frietchie — all these years, 

From guileless boyhood down, 
I've seen the flag and heard the cheers 

In far off Fredericktown; 
And I've seen Jackson lift his hat 

And bid his troops march on, 
But now, alas ! they tell me that 

Is a dreamer's tale, and gone! 

And oft at night, as though 't were real, 

I've heard the flame's wild roar, 
I've seen Jim Bludso hold the wheel 

Till the last galoot's ashore; 
I thought the better of men for it, 

And of duty to die or do, 
But some wise men, of little wit, 

Say none of the tale is true. 



128 A PLEA FOR OLD FRIENDS 

Oh, leave me the ride of Paul Revere 

And the story of Fredericktown ! 
The nozzle agin' th' bank — so clear 

From guileless boyhood down! 
Leave me the curfew that was not rung, 

Leave them for me and you; 
And let more songs like these be sung, 

Though none of the tales be true ! 



THE BOYVILLE CADETS 

HARK! What is that clatter and patter of 
feet? 
The Boyville Cadets are half-way up the 
street ! 
They march two by two, a most bloodthirsty horde, 
Led by Captain Tom Jones, with a big wooden sword. 
They're mostly barelegged and coatless and brown, 
A make-believe army from all parts of town, 
With guns on their shoulders all whittled from lath, 
And woe to the foeman who crosses their path. 

Bob Brown has a fife and Bill Blake has a drum. 
See now in what martial procession they come; 
Jim Dobbs waves the flag with victorious flirt, 
A long willow pole with a red woolen shirt. 
And Corporal Brownlegs, he squints down the line: 
"Attention! Right shoulder! Guide right!" Oh, it's 

fine 
To know you've no troubles, no worries, no debts, 
And march down the street with the Boyville Cadets ! 

Now Sergeant Big Freckles cries, "Hep! Hep!" and 

"Hep!" 
To see that the army keeps right perfect step. 
And General Red Hair reins up with great force, 
To shout some command from his make-believe horse. 



i 3 o THE BOYVILLE CADETS 

Then Captain Tom Jones gives a formal salute, 
And rests his big sword on the toe of his boot, 
For woe to the foe that harasses or frets 
The solid platoon of the Boyville Cadets ! 

Then Corporal Barefoot is ordered to scout 
For bloodthirsty redskins, and look all about. 
They march, single file, through the thick-growing 

trees, 
For favorite haunts of the red men are these. 
Far off in the woods, is an ear-splitting shout. 
Alas! 'Tis the death-cry of Barefoot, the scout! 
And now all the air rings with war-whoops and 

cries; 
Bang! bang! go the laths, and the red savage dies! 

A hand-to-hand fight, and the battle is done; 

In the orchard the redskins lie dead, every one. 

But, oh, woe is me! For all gory and red 

Lies Barefoot, the scout, by the red men struck 

dead! 
The Boyville Cadets lift him out of the dirt; 
They wrap him about with the old woolen shirt; 
And then, with drums muffled and heads sadly 

bowed, 
They bear him back home, with the flag for a 

shroud. 

Then General Red Hair, in orders, gives thanks 
To all of his soldiers, and bids them break ranks. 



THE BOYVILLE CADETS 131 

For out of the distance he hears a shrill call : 
"Tom! Joe! Bill! Jim! Children! Why, where are 

you all ?" 
Then Barefoot, the scout, to his life is restored, 
And Captain Tom Jones hides his big wooden sword; 
For there's wood to be split and there's water to get 
In the dull private life of the Boyville Cadet. 



A LITTLE BOY I KNOW 

A LITTLE boy I used to know, from whom 
I've been away, 
Oh, very many years, took me upon a trip 
today. 
It seemed so good to be with him, and he was glad 

to be 
Companion, guide, and friend until the journey's 

end with me. 
I quite forgot my cares with him, nor could I well be 

sad, 
As long as he was at my side, for he was blithe and 

glad, 
And oh, the merry songs he sang, the tunes he whis- 
tled clear 
That I had half forgotten till he sang and whistled 
here! 

By many a winding stream we went, and many a 

limpid brook, 
Where oft he bade me stop and cast a line and fishing 

hook 
Until we drew a struggling fish from out some eddy 

deep, 
And once upon the bank we lay and both fell fast 

asleep. 



A LITTLE BOY I KNOW 133 

By clover meadows sweet we strayed, where cow bells 

tinkled far, 
Deep in the woods where hollow logs and darting 

squirrels are, 
And here and there he bade me stop till he would 

climb a tree 
To shake a limb and rattle down some nuts for him 

and me. 

Down many a shady lane we walked, through some 

familiar land, 
Where dreams of faces long forgot arose on every 

hand; 
We saw a cottage by the road, and in the kitchen 

door 
A woman with the sweetest face — a glimpse and 

nothing more. 
And as she vanished from our sight I saw the tear- 
drops shine 
In both his eyes, and I could feel the tears well up 

in mine; 
He plucked his shabby sleeve to brush the teardrops 

from his eye 
And whispered, "I saw Mother there!" and I said, 

"So did I!" 

And there were spreading apple trees where oft he 

bade me lie 
Upon the grass and watch the clouds that swept 

across the sky. 



i 3 4 A LITTLE BOY I KNOW 

He lent me many a dream to dream — of fame and 
love and truth, 

Such dreams as Fancy stores within the Treasure- 
heart of Youth ! 

Ofttimes we found a sparkling spring and lay upon 
the brink 

Our lips laved with its bubbling stream, to drink and 
drink and drink; 

And oh, the joys we two renewed, and oh, the hum 
of bees, 

The songs of birds, the violets and treasures such as 
these ! 

A little boy I used to know, a lad of nine or ten, 
Took me a journey glad today — I hope he'll come 

again 
To take my hand and walk with me where golden 

sunshine gleams, 
To lead me by familiar ways and lend me all his 

dreams! 
To keep me near the hopes we had, to whistle merry 

tunes, 
To find me dawns like those we knew and sunny 

afternoons; 
A little boy his Mother loved! — a lad of nine or ten; 
Perhaps you've known and walked with him — I 

hope he comes again! 



ASLEEP AT THE CIRCUS 

NOW the last roasted peanut is swallowed, 
'I he last ( lown ha-, gone on pars 
The lafi lugared popcorn been followed 
By sips of the last lemonade. 
His eyes, once so big, that shone brightly 

Through all of die glad afternoon* 

Arc shut, and his fingers close tightly 

And ding to hii gaudy balloon, 
'J he la.t acrobat*! been applauded, 

And shuffled hl4 way frOW the mat; 
The last bareback rider's been lauded; 

'I he I lown* with hie sugar-loaf hat, 
Has gOfie v/ j t } j h|j powdei and spangles; 

'I he diver has made his last leap; 
And here U1 my arms are brown tangles 

Of CUflfj and a boy fast asleep. 

One iticky hand rest-, on my ihoulder, 

One holds fast the gaudy balloon, 
Thai shrinks, and before it's much older 

Will fade like the glad afternoon. 
Hii dreamt* it may be, of the maddest 

Of somersaults, recklessly hurled; 
The tiredest, sleepiest, gladdest 

And stickiest lad in the world! 



136 ASLEEP AT THE CIRCUS 

And oh, but the spangles were splendid! 

And oh, but the music was grand ! 
The side-splitting clown laughter blended 

With soul-stirring airs by the band, 
Till naught of the glad marvel lingers 

Save what in his dreams he may keep, 
As he clasps his balloon with close fingers 

And rests in my arms, fast asleep. 

And so from these joys without number, 

Ere aught of the glitter was gone, 
He went to his dream-laden slumber, 

Where on plays the music, and on. 
For him all the revel is maddest, 

For him not a flag has been furled, 
The tiredest, sleepiest, gladdest 

And stickiest lad in the world ! 




CO 

u 

Pi 

u 

w 

H 

H 
< 

w 

w 



THE BARRIERS 

SCRUB out his freckles, 'twas Nature who gave 
' em \ 
Silence his whistle and comb out his hair, 

Muffle his footsteps, for People — Lord save 'em — 

Want something noiseless and soulless and fair; 
Bleach out the spots where the Summer sun kissed 
him, 
Still all the tunes and the bird calls he knew, 
Then, when he's boy no more, who could resist 
him? 
Sun and the Wind, here's a lesson for you. 

Sun and the Wind and the freshness of showers, 

How could you tempt him to revel and roam 
Past the long hedges and through the wild flowers? 

Did you not know it would cost him a home? 
Did you not know when the gay bluebird glistened 

Up on the bough and with wonder he rose, 
Rose with his heart beating glad, as he listened, 

Did you not know it would freckle his nose ? 

Hide your heads, Daisies, that wave over yonder, 
Gleam in the sunlight and dance by the creek, 

You bade him leave the pale shadow and wander — 
Did you not know he might freckle his cheek? 



i 3 8 THE BARRIERS 

You, too, the larks through the green meadows wing- 
ing, 

Did you not tempt him with glad song and free? 
Why did you not let him learn through your singing 

He would be outcast through following thee ? 

Heartless blackberries, you led him from shelter; 

Nuts, without shame, you did bid him to climb; 
Butterflies bright, that he chased helter-skelter, 

Have you no shame for the depths of your crime ? 
What if the heart of him beats but the truer, 

What if the soul of him still sweeter grows, 
What if the eyes of him sparkle the truer, 

Do you not see you have freckled his nose ? 

Scrub out the freckles — oh, well, doesn't matter; 

Maybe they'll wash out with plentiful tears; 
Muffle his footsteps, that no boyish patter 

Rise to offend supersensitive ears; 
Bid him not whistle the soiVgs the fields taught him, 

Let him be pale, still, anaemic, and thin, 
Teach him and bleach him, and when you have got 
him 

Thoroughly colorless, let him come in! 



THE PLAINT OF THE NEW DOLL 

WE dot a doll to our house; 
It turn on Trissmus day; 
It wuzn't hangin' on a tree; 
It turn some uzzer way; 
'Ey wouldn't let me play wiz it, 

'Ey said 'at it might fall; 
En so it laid 'ere all day long 
En squall en squall en squall. 

*E funniestes' 'ittle sing, 

Espeshully fer a doll; 
En Mamma told me wen it turn 

It wuzn't dressed at all; 
'Ey only let me take one peek, 

I ast 'em if I tould 
'Es press to see if it would squeak 

Like my own dolly would. 

En 'en 'ey laughed en laughed en laughed, 

En wouldn't tell me why; 
I dess tant 'magine why 'ey laughed, 

It ain't no use t' try; 
En how 'ey fussed en fussed en fussed 

En I dess almos' all 
*E uncles en 'e aunts I dot 

Turn in to see 'at doll. 



i 4 o THE PLAINT OF THE NEW DOLL 

En 'en 'ey laughed en Papa laughed 

'Es like a silly boy; 
I never saw growed up folks make 

Such fuss about a toy. 
I dess I dot mos' fifteen dolls, 

'E nices' ever wuz, 
En never tissed one half as much 

As my own Papa does. 

I dess 'ey've everyone fordot 

'At I'm 'eir little dirl; 
'Ey haven't changed my dress today, 

My hair's all out of turl; 
'Ey's tandy on my face an' hands, 

I don't look nice at all, 
'Ey've everyone fordotten me 

Fer dess a nasty doll! 

I wis' 'et I tould det it onct; 

I'd frow it all about, 
En knock it — so! En slap it — so! 

En shake its sawdust out; 
En 'en w'en 'ey saw how it looked 

I dess know 'ey'd all be 
Ez dlad ez tould be 'ess t' have 

One little dirl — like me ! 



A CHILD'S ALMANAC 

MY Mamma says 'at w'en it rains 
'Ey're washin' Heaven's window-panes 
An' careless angels 'ist do fill 
'Eir pails too full an' 'atway spill 
Some water down on us. 'At's w'y 
It rains some days w'en maybe I 
Would like to play. An' 'en she says 
It's 'ist 'em angels' carelessness 
'At makes 'em raindrops fall 'at way 
At picnics an' on circus day. 

My Mamma says 'at w'en it snows 
'Ey're angels pickin' geese, she knows, 
An' 'stead o' usin' 'em t' stuff 
'Eir pillow cases, 'ey 'ist puff 
An' blow an' don't clear up 'eir muss 
Till all 'em feathers fall on us. 
An' she says 'ey 'ist pick 'atway 
'Cuz 'ey want geese f'r Tris'mus day, 
An' 'at's w'y 'ere's 'e mostes' snow 
Right close t' Tris'mus time, you know. 

My Mamma says w'en wind 'ist roars 
An' blows, 'at's w'en 'e angels snores, 
But w'en it lightnings, she says, w'y, 
'Ey're scratchin' matches on 'e sky. 



i 4 2 A CHILD'S ALMANAC 

An* w'en it rumbles 'bove our heads 
'Ey're movin' furniture an' beds 
Up 'ere, an' cleanirT house an' shakes 
'Eir moth balls out an' 'at's w'at makes 
It hail. An' weather, she 'ist 'clares 
Is 'ist w'at angels does upstairs. 



THE LOSER 

THE sun withheld its light that day; that 
night the stars were dim; 
The portent of the earth and sky was 
ominous for him; 
There was no gladness in the world; the fields held 

no delight; 
The day of all his joys dissolved and melted into 

night; 
He rubbed his pitching arms and felt the muscles 

rise and fall; 
He wondered what the cruel fate that lost the game 

of ball; 
He wandered idly by the brook, forsaken and alone, 
To be a hero nevermore, unsung, unwept, unknown. 

'Twas only yesterday he was the idol of the team! 
Those cheers and loud hurrahs he heard — could they 

have been a dream? 
They called him Tim the Tiger then! Small boys 

by scores he saw 
To bear his glove, his coat, his shoes, with gratitude 

and awe. 
With joy they saw his arm laid bare — that mighty 

arm and brown 
That wound itself about his head and mowed the 

batsmen down; 



i 4 4 THE LOSER 

And when he went upon the field, the mighty cheers 

for him 
Showed how their hopes of victory were all bound up 

in Tim! 

It was but yesterday he bore the laurels on his 

brow, 
But who, alas! is there so low to do him honor 

now? 
His heart swells, bursting in his chest; the heart so 

bruised and sore; 
Could he but go back on the field and pitch that 

game once more! 
The tears fall from his eyes like rain, the hot and 

angry tears, 
No sorrow has he known like this in all his fifteen 

years; 
How will he meet the Tigers now? How look into 

the eyes 
Of those who staked their all on him and saw him 

lose the prize? 

To school he walks secluded ways where once with 
pride he strode, 

With awestruck youngsters all about, the middle of 
the road; 

Far from the madding crowd he stands upon the play- 
ground there 

His honors fallen like the leaves in Autumn's frosty 
air; 



THE LOSER 145 

A humble Tiger is he now, and small boys pass him 

by 
With cruel sneers where once he heard the cheers 

ring shrill and high; 
And Reddy Blake, the Cyclone Curve, is pitcher for 

the team, 
While he's but the somnambulist of a quick-vanished 

dream! 



BACK TO SCHOOL 

FELL in the creek twice yesterday! 
Slipped and slid from a load of hay, 
Stepped on a stone and bruised my toe; 
Hardly walk 'cause I'm blistered so; 
Hit my knee till it's blue and black, 
Sat in the sun and burned my back 
When I went to swim, but my, I'm glad ! 
Best vacation I ever had. 

Slid off the old red barn last week. 

Wind all gone so I couldn't speak 

When they laid me in upon the bed 

And put cold water on my head. 

Got poison-ivy on my legs 

When I went in the weeds to look for eggs; 

But I've had more fun since I don't know when! 

Hate to go back to school again. 

Burned my hands till they're awful sore 
When the calf ran out of the big barn door 
And I tried to hold the rope and fell 
Most twenty feet down the old dry well. 
Lost my hat that was almost new, 
In the great big lake, when the high wind blew; 
And my pants are torn from many a climb, 
But I never had such a summer-time. 



BACK TO SCHOOL i 47 

Ate poison berries by the creek 
Till they thought I'd die, I felt so sick; 
But they gave me ipecac to take, 
And it cured up all my stomach-ache! 
Got stung by bees, but I got stung best 
When I started home with a hornet's nest, 
And I all swelled up; but I'm gone down now, 
And it's all in a boy's life, anyhow! 

Nose all peeled till it's red and rough, 
Hands all brown, but I'm awful tough 
From the exercise, and I'm big and strong, 
'Cause I hoed in a corn-field all day long. 
And my uncle said that I might stay 
For harvest-time, and he'd give me pay; 
And I'd like to stay, but I have to go 
Back home to school, 'cause my Ma said so. 






DISENCHANTMENTS 

HERE is the brook where the bold pirates 
ferried, 
Swashbuckling wretches, cold-blooded, 
unkind; 
Here is the tree where vast treasure was buried, 

Doubloons we dug for but never could find. 
How things have changed since these waters were 
riven, 
Splashed with our paddles and churned into foam ! 
Since the dark nights when the pickaxe was driven 
Where the lost treasure lay under the loam ! 

Here is the wood with its fastness unbounded, 

Whence the red savage stole noiselessly out, 
Warning us not till his warwhoop was sounded, 

Leaving us scalped on the greensward about. 
How things have changed from the steed and the 
stirrup, 

Flintlock and tomahawk whittled from lath, 
Where our blood ran there's no fluid but syrup 

From the sap maples along our war path ! 

Here is the plain where our scouts reconnoitred, 
Crawling and creeping through morass and glade, 

Sighting some bloodthirsty savage who loitered 
Near by the scene of some scalp-lifting raid. 



DISENCHANTMENTS 149 

How things have changed since the red deer went 
leaping, 
Since came the bison by hundreds to browse, 
Silent the plain where our brave scouts went creep- 
ing, 
Save for the lowing of far distant cows. 

Here is the cave where our clans were assembled, 

Guarded by sentries, nor traitor could reach; 
Ghostly and tomb-like, where heroes dissembled 

Blood-chilling fears in their boldness of speech. 
Bruce had a refuge here, Wallace lay wounded, 

Hallowed its clammy walls, safe its retreat, 
Once 'twas a labyrinth, gloomy, unsounded, 

'Tis but a gravel pit, just off the street. 

How things have changed in the years since we knew 
them, 
Pirate and redskin and treasure and clan; 
Men walk beside them and past them and through 
them, 
Giving no heed that our blood there once ran; 
Making no sign for the struggles that swept them, 

Flintlock and scalplock, raid, warfare, and strife, 
How things have changed since we cherished and kept 
them! 
All of the romance has gone out of life! 



A RAINY NIGHT 

P^ OUT eight o'clock first night that we 
|^ Were down at the academy 
-*— * 'Twas awful rainy out, and so 
We both of us stayed in, you know; 
But we could hear the wind and rain 
Come splashing on the window-pane; 
And after while, why, Henry Stout 
Put up the curtain and looked out, 
And said, "My! Ain't she coming down! 
I wish I was in Beaverstown." 

And then nobody spoke at all, 
Just listened to the rain-drops fall; 
And Henry sniffled up his nose 
Because he had a cold, I s'pose. 
And then he said, "I wonder how 
Our folks are getting on by now." 
And I said, "Oh, I guess all right. 
My! Ain't it rainy out to-night!" 
And Henry gave a great big sigh 
And swallowed hard — and so did I. 

And then he said, "My! Such a noise! 
I guess there's lots of homesick boys 
Around tonight." And I said, "Oh," — 
Just careless like — "Oh, I don't know." 



A RAINY NIGHT 151 

And then he said, "I guess Jim Brown 
Is glad he stayed in Beaverstown 
And didn't have to come down here." 
And I said, "Do your eyes feel queer? 
I got a speck in mine, I guess, 
They water so." And he said, "Yes." 

And then he looked and tried to smile, 
And we kept still for quite a while, 
And heard it rain; and then he said, 
"I s'pose our folks are gone to bed 
And sound asleep by now, I guess." 
And then I swallowed and said, "Yes." 
So then we both got into bed 
And heard it rain; and then he said, 
"My! Ain't she just a-pouring down! 
I wish I was in Beaverstown." 



KITCHEN MIRACLES 

IN Aunt Amelia's kitchen there are many wonders 
done, 
Such miracles are wrought as never seen beneath 
the sun: 
A pumpkin from the garden — just a yellow sphere 

that lies 
Beneath her skilful handling ripens quickly into 

pies; 
The corn grows into fritters, you must marvel at the 

change; 
The apples change to dumplings in the glowing 

kitchen range; 
She waves her hands above it, and the milk is cottage 

cheese. 
You merely watch her, and you see such miracles as 
these. 

She finds it easy, quite, to make blueberries into 

rolls; 
And eggs are changed to omelets above the glowing 

coals ; 
And sometimes when she's fixing the materials for 

pies 
She turns cider into mince-meat right before your 

very eyes! 



KITCHEN MIRACLES 153 

Sometimes she makes a currant roll — you would 

not think she could — 
Or makes a peach turn over, or does something just 

as good; 
But she says quite the hardest task that ever she has 

found 
Is, when she has her boys at tea, to make these things 

go 'round! 



JIM BRADY'S BIG BROTHER 

JIM BRADY'S big brother's a wonderful lad, 
And wonderful, wonderful muscles he had; 
He swung by one arm from the limb of a tree 
And hung there while Jim counted up forty-three 
Just as slow as he could; and he leaped at a bound 
Across a wide creek and lit square on the ground 
Just as light as a deer; and the things he can do, 
So Jimmy told us, you would hardly think true. 

Jim Brady's big brother could throw a fly ball 
From center to home just like nothing at all; 
And often while playing a game he would stand 
And take a high fly with just only one hand; 
Jim Brady showed us where he knocked a home run 
And won the big game when it stood three to one 
Against the home team, and Jim Brady, he showed 
The place where it lit in the old wagon road! 

Jim Brady's big brother could bat up a fly 
That you hardly could see, for it went up so high; 
He'd bring up his muscle and break any string 
That you tied on his arm like it wasn't a thing! 
He used to turn handsprings, and cart-wheels, and he 
Could jump through his hands just as slick as could 

be, 
And circuses often would want him to go 
And be in the ring, but his mother said no. 



JIM BRADY'S BIG BROTHER 155 

Jim Brady's big brother would often make bets 
With boys that he'd turn two complete summersets 
From off of the spring-board before he would dive, 
And you'd hardly think he would come up alive; 
And nobody ever who went there to swim 
Could do it, but it was just easy for him; 
And they'd all be scared, so Jim said, when he'd stay 
In under and come up a half mile away. 

Jim Brady's big brother, so Jim said, could run 
Five miles in a race just as easy as one. 
Right often he walked on his hands half a block 
And could have walked more if he'd wanted to walk! 
And Jimmy says wait till he comes home from school, 
Where he is gone now, and some day, when it's cool, 
He'll get him to prove everything to be true 
That Jimmy told us his big brother could do! 



THE SCAPEGOAT 

IF anybody comes in late 
To dinner and don't shut the gate, 
Or doesn't sweep the porch, or go 
Right out and shovel off the snow, 
Or bring in wood or wipe his feet, 
Or leave the woodshed nice and neat — 
It's me! 

If anybody doesn't think 
To carry out the cow a drink, 
Or tracks mud on the kitchen floor, 
Or doesn't shut the cellar door, 
Or leaves the broom out on the stoop, 
Or doesn't close the chicken coop — 
It's me! 

If anybody doesn't bring 
The hammer in, or breaks a thing, 
Or dulls the axe, or doesn't know 
What has become of so-and-so 
That's lost for maybe six weeks past, 
If anybody had it last — 
It's me! 



THE SCAPEGOAT 157 

If anything is lost or gone, 
They've got some one to blame it on; 
I get the blame for all the rest 
Because I am the little-est; 
And if they have to blame some one 
For what is or what isn't done — 
It's me! 



A TRAGEDY OF CENTER FIELD 

HE muffed the fly that lost the game; he never 
did before; 
The boys don't think he'll ever be light- 
hearted any more. 
Our captain didn't say a word; he just picked up his 

bat 
And started home with downcast head — what words 

could equal that? 
Nobody spoke on our whole side, or didn't even ask 
How Stubby came to muff the fly. Bud Hicks picked 

up his mask 
And sighed an awful sorry sigh. Stub Weeks is not 

the same — 
Our boys don't think he ever will, because he lost 
the game. 

Nobody asked him to explain. They couldn't under- 
stand 

How Stubby dropped it when he had the ball right in 
his hand. 

It sailed from Pudgy Williams' bat and soared just 
like a bird 

To center field where Stubby was. Nobody hardly 
stirred 

Because it was so critical, but Bud Hicks gave a 
shout, 



A TRAGEDY OF CENTER FIELD 159 

He knew a fly in center field was just as good as out 
When Stubby Weeks was under it. And then he 

gave a cry 
Of agony too great for words when Stubby muffed 

the fly. 

Our boys all slowly walked away, and even Red 

Blake's team 
Were too surprised to cheer because it seemed just 

like a dream. 
And over there in center field Stub Weeks was dream- 
ing, too, 
As though he was Napoleon and this was Waterloo. 
The blow was such an awful one he acted sort of 

stunned, 
And then he walked in from the field expecting to be 

shunned 
Forevermore by all his friends. His throat was 

hoarse and dry; 
We knew his heart was broken then because he 

muffed the fly. 

He saw us all pick up our things and walk away, and 

then 
The awful stain upon his name came back to him 

again. 
He thought of how it should have been — the loud 

hurrahs and cheers, 
And leaned against the back-stop fence and drenched 

it with his tears, 



160 A TRAGEDY OF CENTER FIELD 

Till all the boys felt sorry then, and told him not to 

mind 
Because the sun was in his eyes and must have made 

him blind. 
But weeks and weeks have passed since then — his 

heart is awful sore, 
Our boys don't think he'll ever be light-hearted any 

more! 



IN SWIMMING 

9 IPST boys — th' kind you used t' know, 
J What-d'-y'-call-him, So-and-so 
-*- An' What's-His-Name — an' every one 
'1st full o' health an' out for fun. 
No meanness in a one of us, 
'1st brown an' strong an' mischievous, 
'Cuz that's th' way 'at boys all grow — 
'1st boys — th' kind you used t' know. 

'1st boys — th' kind you used t' be. 

What! Never climbed an apple tree 

An' shook 'em down ? Why, Mister, you — 

You never was a boy, real true. 

I'll bet 'at you was mischievous 

As you could be. You're foolin* us 

'Cuz you can't help but see 'at we 

Are boys — 'ist like you used t' be. 

Of course we ought t' be at school, 
But my! The water's nice an' cool 
An' when it calls you, w'y, you 'ist 
Can't be a real boy an' resist. 
An' say! We caught a fish down there 
'Most two feet long — right close t' w'ere 
You're standin' now. Now don't you see 
We're boys — 'ist like you used t' be ? 



162 IN SWIMMING 

Say, you ain't goin' t' tell our Ma 
'At you was passin' by an' saw 
Us swimmin' here. W'y, Mister, you 
Won't never feel right if you do. 
Don't be a tattle-tale ! W'y, say, 
If you should give us boys away 
You couldn't never bear to see 
A boy — 'ist like you used t' be. 

Come on, now! You ain't goin' t' tell 

On us. I know it, 'ist as well 

As anythin'. You wouldn't hurt 

Her feelin's 'ist t' do us dirt. 

You won't? Thanks, Mister. You're a brick. 

We're goin' home, Sir, pretty quick. 

It's awful fine here, 'cuz, y' see, 

We're boys — 'ist like you used t' be. 



AN UNUSUAL CHUM 

HENRY BLAKE'S father goes fishing with 
him, 
And goes in the creek so's to teach him to 
swim; 
He talks to him just like they're awful close chums 
And sometimes at night he helps Henry do sums; 
And once he showed Henry how he used to make 
A basket by whittling a peach stone and take 
The bark off of willows for whistles although 
He hadn't made one since a long time ago. 

Henry Blake's father is just like his chum, 
And when he goes fishing he lets Henry come; 
He fixes two seats on the bank of the brook 
And shows Henry how to put frogs on his hook; 
And sometimes he laughs in the j oiliest way 
At some little thing that he hears Henry say, 
And dips up a drink in his hat like you do 
When only just boys go a-fishing with you. 

Henry Blake's father will take him and stay 
Somewhere in the woods for a half holiday 
And wear his old clothes and bring home a big sack 
Of hick'ries and walnuts to help Henry crack; 
And sit on a dead log somewhere in the shade 
To eat big sandwiches his mother has made; 
And Henry Blake's father, he don't seem as though 
He's more than his uncle, he likes Henry so! 



AND JUST THEN 

DON'T you remember when the ship, the 
pirate ship, that flew 
The black flag with the gleaming skull, in 
the fierce gale that blew, 
Went on the rocks ? I think it was upon the Spanish 

Main; 
The sails were torn to tatters and there fell a driving 

rain, 
The air was pierced with cries of fear, shocks followed 

upon shocks, 
"Come, man the lifeboats," called the mate, "the 

ship is on the rocks!" 
And just when lightnings rent the air and all the sky- 
was red, 
Your mother said, "You've read enough, my boy! 
It's time for bed!" 

Don't you remember when the score stood six to six, 

until 
The very ending of the game and every heart stood 

still? 
The Red Sox pitcher took his place, while not a 

watcher stirred, 
A hit, a pass, an error and a runner got to third. 
Don't you remember, as you read, you almost heard 

the crack 



AND JUST THEN 165 

As bat met ball and you could feel cold chills go down 

your back? 
And just as you had but a page to find which players 

led, ' 
Your mother said, "You've read enough, my boy! 

It's time for bed!" 

Don't you remember when Wild Bill and Deadshot 

Dick, the scout, 
Were prisoned in the rocky cave with redskins all 

about, 
With all their ammunition gone, nor food to eat, as 

they 
Had been a thousand times before, but always got 

away ? 
The war-whoops rang out fierce and shrill. Said 

Dick, "I have a plan; 
We will escape or sell our lives as dearly as we can." 
And just as you turned o'er the page to see what 

plans they'd lay, 
The clock struck nine — your mother came and took 

the book away. 

Oh, Captain Kidd, it seemed to me when you went 

on the rock 
You always timed the hour of it to be at nine o'clock ! 
And Dick, the scout, the redskins came and fell on 

you with rage 
Just when my boyhood bed time came and I turned 

down the page! 



166 AND JUST THEN 

And Spike, the wizard of the slab, who mowed the 

batsmen down 
Like blades of grass, the hero of the little country 

town, 
You seemed to time the crisis of your fiercest game, 

someway, 
At nine o'clock, when Mother came and took the 

book away! 



AFTERWARD 

I'M glad I was always so good to her; 
I was just up there in the nursery 
Picking up things — you know — that were 
Left strewn about as carelessly 
As a child will do when she's called from play; 

I picked them up with a mist and blur 
In my eyes, and I laid them all away — 
I'm glad I was always so good to her. 

And many's the picture that came to me, 

That came to me o'er a Teddy bear 
Or a doll or a whole tin infantry 

Arrayed in a battle column there; 
Picture on picture of girls and girls 

(One year and two years and three) that were; 
Of pinafores and blue frocks and curls — 

I'm glad I was always so good to her. 

Dreams on dreams and they ride me down, 

Column and phalanx, and voices call;' 
And grasses grow green and come sere and brown, 

And leaves bud, blossom and blow and fall; 
She had been six now — and seven — and ten — 

So tall — and so tall — how fair they were, 
How fair they were and they would have been, 

Those lost ones — I'm glad I was good to her. 



CIRCUS DAY 

IF you're waking call me early, call me early, 
Mother dear. 
I think at 4 o'clock a.m., the circus will be here; 
If it was any other day 'twould take an awful shock 
To rouse me from my little bed before quite 8 o'clock; 
You needn't mind my breakfast, for I'll be in dread- 
ful haste, 
And if I see the cars unload I'll have no time to waste; 
Perhaps they'll wash the cages, Ma, and I'll be there 

to see 
The men take off the sideboards from the whole 
menagerie. 

If you're waking call me early, call me early, Mother 
dear, 

Because the place where it unloads is full two miles 
from here; 

I'd faint without my breakfast if 'twas any other day, 

But I'll be strong enough, I think, to run quite all the 
way; 

The boys I know will all be there; 'twill be a won- 
drous sight 

To see the elephants led out before it's hardly light; 

And hear the lions roar, which makes goose pimples 
when you hear — 

If you're waking, call me early, call me early, Mother 
dear. 



CIRCUS DAY 169 

If you're waking call me early, call me early, Mother 

dear, 
No matter if you whisper it I'll be quite sure to hear; 
If I was being waked to turn the wringer it would be 
A good deal harder job, of course, for you to waken 

me; 
But I will leave my stockings on and put my shirt in 

place, 
And if I'm rushed for time I will not need to wash 

my face; 
And in the early morning light you'll see me leaving 

here 
About three minutes after four, so call me, Mother 

dear. 

If you're waking, call me early, call me early, Mother 

dear; 
I will not yawn and rub my eyes and ask if morning's 

here; 
I will not pull the covers up as I have done before 
And ask you if I cannot sleep just half an hour more; 
I'll jump right out of bed as soon as ever you may call 
And be all dressed and down the stair and gone out 

through the hall 
Before you say Jack Robinson — the circus will be 

here 
At 4 o'clock, so call me early, early, Mother dear! 



THE TOUR OF A SMILE 

MY papa smiled this morning when 
He came down stairs, you see, 
At Mamma; and when he smiled, then 
She turned and smiled at me; 
And when she smiled at me, I went 

And smiled at Mary Ann, 
Out in the kitchen and she lent 
It to the hired man. 

So then he smiled at someone, who 

He saw, when going by; 
Who also smiled and ere he knew 

Had twinkles in his eye; 
So he went to his office then 

And smiled right at his clerk, 
Who put some more ink on his pen 

And smiled back from his work. 

So when his clerk went home he smiled 

Right at his wife, and she 
Smiled over at their little child 

As happy as could be; 
And then their little child, she took 

The smile to school, and when 
She smiled at teacher from her book, 

Teacher smiled back again. 



THE TOUR OF A SMILE 171 

And then the teacher passed on one 

To little James McBride, 
Who couldn't get his lessons done, 

No matter how he tried; 
And Jamesy took it home and told 

How teacher smiled at him 
When he was tired and didn't scold, 

But said, "Don't worry, Jim!" 

And when I happened to be there 

That very night to play, 
His mother had a smile to spare 

Which came across my way; 
And then I took it after while 

Back home, and Mamma said: 
"Here is that very self-same smile 

Come back with us to bed!" 



WHEN GRANDPA PLAYS 

I DON'T know what makes Grandpa tired; he's 
hardly done a thing 
Except to put some hammocks up and help us 
children swing; 
He only came an hour ago, and we've been here all 

day. 
He says we're most too much for him and thinks he'll 

hardly stay; 
He just played drop-the-handkerchief and blind 

man's buff, but he 
Says, My! we've got him out of breath and tired as 

he can be. 
He says it's most too much for him to play leap-frog 

and ball, 
But we have been here all day long, and we're not 
tired at all! 

He started to play hide and seek, and first he had to 

blind 
And then he ran with all his might to see who he 

could find, 
And Tommy Watkins beat him in from there behind 

a tree, 
Till Grandpa had to give it up and say, "All's out's 

in free!" 



WHEN GRANDPA PLAYS 173 

And then he sat down on a stump and said he's tired 

to death. 
He had to hold his sides a while till he could catch 

his breath. 
He said he'd like to shake a tree and make some 

apples fall, 
But he's too tired, and we boys here are hardly tired 

at all! 

He only ran in under once when we were in the swing, 
And then he had to rest because he's tired as every- 
thing; 
And once he showed us how to climb a great, tall 

tree, but when 
He only got a few feet up he slid right down again. 
He said he used to climb a tree, oh, very, very tall 
And sit across a branch way up and never tire at all, 
But now he's out of practice, and his legs won't stay 

around 
The trunk, and he feels safer when he stays down on 
the ground! 

And sometimes when he goes back home and holds 

us by the hand, 
All wringing wet and out of breath, our Ma says 

"Goodness, Land! 
I think you are the youngest boy of all the boys in 

sight." 
But Grandpa rubs his legs and arms and limps and 

says "Not quite!" 



174 WHEN GRANDPA PLAYS 

And sometimes in the parlor, why, he says he was 

so strong 
When he was just a boy they used to take him right 

along 
To lift the heavy things and do the hardest work, you 

know, 
But now us boys '11 tire him out in just an hour or so! 



THE PARTED WAYS 

I USED to know a little lad, 
A youngster of thirteen, 
Who wasn't very good 01 had, 
But somewhere in between. 
He had such freckles on his nose 

As your nose seems to hear; 
Indeed, I'd almost think that those 
Were some he used to wear. 

I le used to have an old straw hat 

All frazzled at the brim, 
Indeed, I'd almost think that that 

Came down to you from him. 
And he had such a dog as now 

Barks joyfully along 
With you — it makes me wonder how 

It could have lived so long. 

And in his heart he held such song 

As fell upoil my ear, 
And echoed through the shadows long 

When you came whirling near; 
So when at twilight, dawn or noon 

This overture you bring, 
It seem:, to he the very tune 

'I his other lad would sing. 



176 THE PARTED WAYS 

And he had pockets bulged with things 

By which he set much store, 
With knives and marbles, tops and strings 

And half a hundred more; 
I see your pockets emptied now, 

Your things cast up with care, 
Until they seem to be, somehow, 

His treasures you have there. 

I know not where it was or when, 

But with his heart of song 
He went and came not back again, 

And took his dreams along; 
So some day in a little while 

He'll wave a sun-browned hand. 
And leave you with his cheery smile — 

And you will understand. 



A MESSAGE HOME 

SAY, Little Boy, 'twixt dawn and dusk who 
treads such devious ways, 
I wish you would remember me to all your 
sunny days; 
For once they were such friends of mine; so bid them 

my good cheer 
And say you saw an old, old friend, who holds them 

very dear; 
Remember me to those cool paths, that led by fields 

and streams, 
Where what were my songs now are yours and what 

were mine your dreams; 
Just say you saw an old, old friend, who wanted you 

to tell 
Them all he sent them love and cheer and wished 
them always well. 

And, Little Boy, if you should lie beneath some 

spreading tree, 
Be good enough to say it has remembrance sweet 

from me; 
For once it used to cover me with shade so thick and 

cool 
And bid me lie and rest and dream as I came home 

from school; 



178 A MESSAGE HOME 

And when you romp with comrade boys at noontime, 

Lad, I pray, 
Remember me to all of them and to the games they 

play; 
And let no games too humble be, no youngsters be 

too small 
To know an old, old friend sends love and blessings 

to them all. 

Remember me to all your dreams, to rose and bush 

and stem, 
To days too short to hold your joys, remember me 

to them; 
To all your secrets deep and vast, of things that are 

and were 
And are to be, half-whispered in the twilight's dusk 

and blur; 
Just say an old friend, long away, but still remember- 
ing 
Would have them know his heart is full of memories 

that bring 
Delight to bygone fellowships, and he would have 

you tell 
Them all he sends them love and cheer, and wishes 

them so well! 

For, over land and over sea the hearts of us that 

fare 
Swell with the messages they bid the homebound 

comrade bear; 



A MESSAGE HOME 179 

And over days and over years have I fared forth and 
so 

I bid you bear my greetings, Lad, to all the joys you 
know. 

Remember me to all the hearts and hopes and dreams 
and deeds, 

Bear blessings of mine everywhere the path of boy- 
land leads; 

Just say you saw an old, old friend, who wanted you 
to tell 

The joys and boys of youth he loved and wished them 
always well. 



LULLABY 

SLEEPY little, creepy little goblins in the gloam- 
. ing . 
With their airy little, fairy little faces all aglow, 

Winking little, blinking little brownies gone a-roam- 
ing 

Hear their rustling little, bustling little footfalls as 
they go; 

Laughing little, chaffing little voices sweetly sing- 
ing 

In the dearest little, queerest little baby lullabies, 
Creep, creep, creep! 
Time to go to sleep! 

Baby playing 'possum with his big, brown eyes ! 

Cricket in the thicket with the oddest little chatter 
Sings his prattling little, rattling little, tattling little 

tune, 
Fleet the feet of tiny stars go patter, patter, patter, 
As they scamper from the heavens at the rising of 

the moon; 
Beaming little, gleaming little fire flies go dreaming 
To the dearest little, queerest little baby lullabies, 
Creep, creep, creep! 
Time to go to sleep! 
Baby playing 'possum with his big, brown eyes! 



LULLABY 181 

Quaking little, shaking little voices all a-quiver 
In the mushy little, rushy little, reedy, weedy bogs, 
Droning little, moaning little chorus by the river 
In the joking little, croaking little cadence of the 

frogs, 
Eerie little, cheery little glowworms in the gloaming 
Where the clover heads like fairy little night caps rise, 
Creep, creep, creep! 
Time to go to sleep! 
Baby playing 'possum with his big, brown eyes! 



DISGUISING TOIL 

WHEN I was just a little boy and sent to 
cut the weeds, 
I played myself a hero bold and given to 
mighty deeds; 
I played myself an armored knight, my scythe a 

broadsword keen, 
The weeds an army of my foes come marching o'er 

the green; 
I laid my good broadsword about, they broke and 

ran pell-mell, 
At every stroke some stubborn lout and his retainers 

fell. 
And when I told them of my play, with lusty shouts 

and glee, 
The neighbor boys brought scythes and fell to cut- 
ting weeds for me. 

When I was just a little boy and sent to cut the wood, 

I played myself a frontier scout, six feet in buckskin 
stood; 

I played the red men swarmed about and all the tim- 
bers laid 

Must be quick hewed and fashioned for an old fron- 
tier stockade; 

Quick fell my axe with flashing blade, for all about 
I heard 



DISGUISING TOIL 183 

The war-whoop of the warriors who in the thicket 

stirred. 
And when I told them of my play, with lusty strokes 

and cry, 
The neighbor boys fell to and wrought my woodpile 

brimming high. 

When I was just a little boy and sent to scrub the 

walk 
With hose and broom, I used to play it was the good 

ship Hawk 
Or Hornet, Spider or Whatnot, afire far out at sea, 
Nor help at hand where'er I looked, to windward or 

to lee; 
And how I fought the tongues of flame that swept by 

stern and bow! 
The clouds of smoke that rolled above — I almost see 

them now! 
And when I told them of my play, with many a lusty 

shout, 
The neighbor boys plied hose and broom to put the 

fire out. 

And when I had to shovel snow I led some hardy 

band 
Of undismayed discoverers, in far-off Arctic land; 
With stores and goods and blubber, too, all buried 

deep below 
The mark that I had left beneath some good six feet 

of snow; 



i8 4 DISGUISING TOIL 

And almost famished, there I dug, full knowing I 

should find 
At last the goodly stores of stuff that we had left 

behind. 
And when I told them of my play, with many a lusty 

shout, 
The neighbor boys plied willing spades and helped 

me dig them out. 



LITTLE GIRL WITH THE CURLS 

LITTLE girl with the curls, and the passion- 
less eyes, 
With your heart that is pure as the cool 
springs that rise 
In the green of the hills, and with cheeks that are fair 
And unsoiled of the world as the snowflake in air, 
With your dreams that are sweet and that always 

come true, 
Little girl with the curls, here's a blessing for you. 

Little girl with the curls and with grace that is sweet 
From the toss of your head to your fast-flying feet, 
With the light in your eyes that is brimming with 

truth 
And the straightforward gaze that's the glory of 

youth, 
With your smiles that are glad and your days that 

are fair, 
Here's a blessing as rich as the gold of your hair. 

Little girl with the curls and the kisses as light 
As the butterfly's kiss of the flower in its flight, 
With your heart all atune to the beauties you see, 
With the song of your days sweet as music can be, 
With your peace like the pardon of heaven unfurls, 
Here's a blessing for you, little girl with the curls. 



186 LITTLE GIRL WITH THE CURLS 

And Oh, be the days of thy trial as far 

From the deeps of the sea as the snowy peaks are! 

And Oh, be thy heart in its singing atune, 

Thy skies be but blue with the splendors of June. 

So bless thee and keep thee and spare thee — with 

pearls 
Be thy days strung through life, little girl with the 

curls. 



MY WONDERFUL DAD 

MY Daddy, he lived in a wonderful house, 
and he played with such wonderful 
boys; 
They were neighbors of his; and the attic they had 

was a storehouse of wonderful toys; 
He slept every night in a wonderful bed, with a tick 

that his grandmother made 
From the feathers of geese that she picked all her- 
self, and so soft he was almost afraid 
He would sink out of sight when he got into bed; he 

could look from his window right out 
And see where the vines used to bring him sweet 

flowers just by crawling along up the spout; 
And he could look over and see where the woods and 

the squirrels and birds used to be. 
He must have had wonderful times where he lived 

from the way that he tells them to me! 

My Daddy, he caught the most wonderful fish — 

there were thin ones and fat ones and round, 
And some were so long that their tails when he walked 

would be dragging right down on the ground; 
He scraped off their scales on a log that he had at the 

woodpile, and said he would know 
That log just as well if he saw it today, although that 

was a long time ago. 



188 MY WONDERFUL DAD 

He used to dig worms of a wonderful size — he has 
never seen any like those 

Since he was grown up; and on Saturdays he wore 
a wonderful old suit of clothes 

And a hat that an uncle of his had forgot, for on Fri- 
day he did all his sums, 

And Saturday always he went off somewhere with 
his one or two wonderful chums. 

My Daddy, he lived in a wonderful place when he 

was a twelve-year-old lad, 
For no matter what kind of a day it might be there 

was always some fun to be had. 
He learned how to swim in a wonderful creek, where 

all of the whole summer long 
The water was warm, and the springboard they had 

it was springy and slippery and strong. 
And on the way home they found berries to eat, and 

he said he remembers them well, 
And it didn't seem nearly a mile to back home, for 

there always was something to tell 
That took up the time both for him and his chums, 

and sometimes they came home a new way, 
And always all summer they had it all planned what 

to do on the next Saturday. 

My Daddy, he said he could go back there now and 
could take me as straight as a string 

To all of the wonderful places he knew — where the 
first flowers came in the spring; 



MY WONDERFUL DAD 189 

Where you almost were sure to catch fish in the brook 

— where the nuts would come dropping in fall; 
Where the most berries were on the way to back home 

— he is sure he remembers them all. 

He knows where the squirrels were most apt to be, 

and the lane where the hay wagon comes; 
And said he'd find names in the bark of a tree that 

were cut there by him and his chums 
Twenty-five years ago, and the log where they sat 

when they found the big garter-snake curled. 
My Daddy, he must have had wonderful times in 

the splendidest place in the world! 



REMEMBRANCES, BILL 

I WONDER if you still remember them, Bill, 
The fresh morning glories that crept up the sill 
And nodded at us when the night time was gone 
And curtains thrown open to let in the dawn; 
The light over there, and the edge of the sun 
That blazed on the hill when the day was begun, 
The air on our cheeks and the sparkle of dew, 
Our hearts and our hopes like the day that was 
new. 

I wonder if you still remember them, Bill, 
The way of a thousand delights up the hill, 
Through lanes and by hedges, where orchards were 

sweet, 
And clover dews healing the woes of bare feet; 
The chatter of squirrels, the rattle of leaves, 
The round, yellow pumpkins, the wind-tattered 

sheaves, 
The shade that was deep and lent splendor to dreams 
And lips that were laved by the bubbles of streams. 

I wonder if you still remember them, Bill, 
The times when the cup of all nature would spill 
Its gladness for us, when the days overflowed 
With the laughter of playtime, and far down the 
road 






REMEMBRANCES, BILL 191 

Were milestones all marked by delights jointly 

shared, 
To set off the days where adventure's steps fared; 
Nor ever a secret but innocence knew, 
The heart of youth hallowed and joy bubbled 

through. 

I wonder if you still remember them, Bill, 
The times in the twilight, on hedgerow and hill 
When we whistled homeward, upon the old road 
With hearts full of gladness that quite overflowed; 
The pillows where nestled two tangles of hair, 
The joy-freighted dreams, with a left-over share 
For the dawn of the morrow — a thread that was 

pearled 
With jewels of joy that were strung 'round our world. 

I wonder if you still remember them, Bill, 
Our vows to the future we thought to fulfill; 
Our day dreams to cherish, our faith to endure, 
Through trials how bitter our hearts to keep pure; 
No gladness of living but we two would share — 
The lanes and the byways are wondrously fair, 
But somehow the voices grow tuneless and. still — 
I wonder if you still remember them, Bill. 



THE BEREAVEMENT 

WE'RE all alone, 'ist Pop an' me, 
'Cuz Mamma's gone away somew'eres 
T' stay the longest time; an' we 
Are all alone; an' Pop 'ist stares 
A-past me an' he never hears 

Me when I ast w'ere she could be, 
An' both his eyes are full o' tears 
Wen we're alone, 'ist Pop an' me. 

An' after w'ile I ast him w'y 

She don't come back; but he don't know; 
An' 'en some way he starts t' cry 

Till I say, " Please, Pop, don't cry so." 
An' put my arms part way around 

His neck an' hug him, 'ist cuz we 
Are lonesome; he don't make a sound; 

An' we're alone, 'ist Pop an' me. 

An' he 'ist hugs me up so tight 

An' sez my Mamma's gone so fur 
She won't come back, but sez we might 

'1st some day, maybe, go to her. 
An' I ast w'y can't we go now 

'Cuz we're so lonesome here; but he 
Don't seem to hear me ast, somehow, 

An' we're alone, 'ist Pop an' me. 



THE BEREAVEMENT 193 

An' 'en I 'ist fergit she's gone 

An' think it's almos' time fur her 
T' come an' put th' supper on, 

But w'en Pop's eyes are all a blur 
I 'member 'at's she's gone away, 

An' can't git supper; Pop sez he 
Ain't hungry, an' I ain't, I say; 

An' we're alone, 'ist Pop an' me. 

An' 'en Pop rocks me in his lap 

An' rubs my head, 'ist soft an' kind, 
An' asts me if I'll take a nap 

If he pulls down th' parlor blind. 
An' in a little w'ile I fall 

Asleep an' he 'ist rocks; but he 
Don't never go t' sleep at all, 

An' we're alone, 'ist Pop an' me. 



IN CHILDHOOD TIME 

HARK! I hear the happy laughter that from 
children's voices rings, 
Swelling out like some vast golden harp 
with half a thousand strings, 
Every one vibrating grandly in an ecstatic acclaim, 
In a medley of sweet melodies that set the birds to 

shame; 
On the harp of childhood's happiness each note rings 

clear and true, 
For the heart is pure and perfect and each quivering 

string is new, 
And it tells and swells like bells afar that ring and 

rhyme and chime 
The sweetest music ever told in note or tune or time. 

When the heart is growing older and the harp of 
laughter rings, 

There's a false note clashing somewhere in the swell- 
ing of the strings; 

There's a chord that strikes imperfect, where some 
sorrow echoes through 

The melody, and grief has warped the strings to 
strains not true. 

Sometimes there's brilliant music that rings from an 
empty heart, 

But it's not the melodious laughter of the child, that 
knows no art, 



IN CHILDHOOD TIME 195 

But just flows full and free, for Nature's teachings, 

undefiled, 
Make music that is heart-true in the sweet voice of 

a child. 

Could I gather every note that floats and rings and 
swells and tells 

The gladness of the child's heart, true as any chime 
of bells 

May tell the passing hour, and fashion them into a 
song, 

'Twould thrill and fill the air with melody as though 
a throng 

Of seraphim, as tinkling cymbals struck the twin- 
kling stars 

In heaven's perfect music, where no din or discord 
mars, 

And a myriad strings would mingle in a melody sub- 
lime, 

The rhyme and chime of laughter gathered from all 
Childhood's Time. 



DON'T 

A HUNDRED times a day I hear 
His mother say: "Don't do that, dear!" 
From early morn till dusk 'tis all 
"Don't do that, dear!" I hear her call 
From the back porch and front and side 
As though some evil would betide 
Unless she drummed it in his ear: 
"Don't do that, dear! Don't do that, dear!" 

If he goes out and slams the door; 
"Don't do that, dear!" and if the floor 
Is newly scrubbed and he comes near; 
"Don't do that, dear!" is all I hear. 
If he comes romping down the stairs; 
"Don't do that, dear!" and if he wears 
No coat, but hangs it somewhere near, 
She sees and says: "Don't do that, dear!" 

If he goes shinning up a tree: 

"Don't do that, dear!" If he should be 

Astride a roof I know I'll hear 

Her call to him: "Don't do that, dear!" 

His life is all "Don't this," "Don't that," 

"Don't loose the dog," "Don't chase the cat," 

"Don't go," "Don't stay," "Don't there," "Don't 

here," 
"Don't do that, dear!" "Don't do that, dear!" 



DONT 197 

Sometimes he seems to me as still 

As any mouse until a shrill 

"Don't do that, dear!" falls on the air 

And drives him swift away from there. 

So when he finds another spot: 

"Don't do that, dear!" and he says: "What?" 

And she replies and cannot say — 

But — "Well, don't do it, anyway!" 



EXTINGUISHED 

THE boy stood on the burning deck, whence 
all but him had fled " — 
When Tommy Gibbs stood up to speak 
he had it in his head, 
But when he saw the schoolroom full of visitors, he 

knew, 
From his weak knees and parching tongue, the words 
had all fled, too. 

"The boy stood on the burning deck" — a second 

time he tried, 
But he forgot about the boy, or if he lived or died; 
He only knew the burning deck was something nice 

and cool 
Beside the rostrum where he stood that awful day 

in school. 

"The boy stood on the burning deck" — he felt the 

flames and smoke. 
His tongue was thick, his mouth was dry, he felt that 

he would choke. 
And from the far back seats he heard a whisper run 

about: 
"Come back here, Tom, and take your seat. They've 

put the fire out!" 



THE UNCHEERED HERO 

TIM BROOKS he studies awful hard 
And faithful all the year, 
But goes out in the school house yard 
And never gets a cheer; 
And Billy Gibbs, he shirks and frets — 

He hates to work at all — 
But you should hear the cheer he gets 
Because he hits the ball. 

Tim Brooks he always leads his class 

And gets his lessons done; 
But Billy Gibbs lets hours pass 

Just thinking up some fun; 
But no one cheers and throws his hat 

And says: "Hurrah for Tim!" 
But when Bill Gibbs goes up to bat 

The boys all cheer for him. 

Bill Gibbs he suffers awful pain 

When he comes to recite; 
He cannot do his sums again 

Or get his grammar right; 
Then teacher calls on Timmy Brooks 

And points to him with pride, 
But when we play a game she looks 

And cheers for Bill outside. 



200 THE UNCHEERED HERO 

Sometimes Tim Brooks he sees the game 

And watches Bill at bat, 
He gets excited just the same 

And cheers and throws his hat; 
But when he has his sums in school 

And Bill is watching him, 
Bill quite forgets the Golden Rule 

And never cheers for Tim. 

I guess I'd rather be like Tim 

Than Billy Gibbs, but when 
The boys outside are cheering him 

It sounds quite pleasant then; 
And it must sometimes seem quite hard 

To study all the year, 
And go out in the school house yard 

But never get a cheer! 



\ 



OLD HALLOWE'EN FRIENDS 

OHO! Mr. Ghost, with your raiment of white, 
Come to frighten me out of my wits in the 
night! 
With your eyes flaming forth like two coals and your 

breath 
Bearing fire that would scare a poor mortal to death; 
With your rows of great teeth grinning widely at me 
And your loose-hanging gown flapping under the tree 
In the orchard out there — Oh ! I know how you're 

made, 
And the youngsters who made you, so I'm not afraid. 

Oho! Mr. Ghost, I am waiting for you; 

You're an old friend of mine, both trustworthy and 

true; 
For that big head of yours that near gave me a fright 
Was in somebody's pumpkin patch only last night. 
And out of my window not two hours ago 
I saw your head scooped out by Bill, Jack, and Joe; 
And I saw you stuck up on the end of a lath 
Before you were stationed right here in my path. 

Oho! Mr. Ghost, with your garments so fine! 

I know what became of that sheet on the line 

In the neighbor's back yard, newly washed and alone. 

It is hiding that lath that you use for backbone. 



202 OLD HALLOWE'EN FRIENDS 

And the candle that burned in the kitchen last night 
Lights those cavernous eyes that near gave me a 

fright; 
Indeed, you are made from such odds and such ends 
That I feel we're the warmest of very old friends. 

And those sepulchral groans you are making at me, 
I know whence they come — from that big apple tree 
That is right behind you — I have heard them before; 
They were begging for cake at the side kitchen door. 
So you see, Mr. Ghost, with your pumpkin and lath, 
With your candle and sheet, when I came up the path 
I heard a boy chuckle up there in the tree, 
And that is the reason you can't frighten me! 



A REFUGE IN DISTRESS 

A FELLOW'S father knows a lot 
Of office work and such, 
But when it comes to things like what 
A boy wants, he ain't much. 
For when it comes to cuts or warts 

Or stone bruise on your toes, 
A fellow's father don't know, but 
A fellow's mother knows. 

A fellow's father he looks wise 

And says: "A-hem! A-hem!" 
But when it comes to cakes and pies, 

What does he know of them ? 
He knows the price of wheat and rye 

And corn and oats, it's true, 
But if you get the leg ache, why, 

He don't know what to do. 

And if you burned your back the time 

That you went in to swim, 
And want some stuff to heal it, why, 

You never go to him, 
Because he doesn't know a thing 

About such things as those, 
But you just bet, and don't forget, 

A fellow's mother knows. 



204 A REFUGE IN DISTRESS 

And if your nose is sunburned, till 

It's all peeled off, and you 
Go to him for some healin' stuff, 

He don't know what to do. 
He's just as helpless as can be, 

But when a fellow goes 
And asks his mother, why, you see, 

A fellow's mother knows. 

A fellow's father knows a lot, 

But it ain't any use, 
So if a fellow's really got 

The leg ache or a bruise, 
Or if there's anything he wants 

He gets right up and goes 
And asks his mother, for, you see, 

A fellow's mother knows. 



THE LOST HEART 

BACK among the trees and trellises, along the 
leaf-strewn lane, 
Sitting on the bank of the mill stream and 
dreaming dreams again, 
Drinking water sweet as nectar from the bucket at 

the well, 
In the orchard's leaf and silence, watching windfalls 

as they fell, 
Trying here, at five and thirty, just to be a boy again, 
To recall the joys of boyhood and forget the cares of 

men; 
But I listen to a lesson in the twitter of the wren: 
When the boy's heart turns to man's it never throbs 
the same again. 

Once the sun marks noon of lifetime, once the morn- 
ing steals away, 

Once the shadows growing shorter and then fall the 
other way, 

Once the play time ends at manhood, once the frol- 
icking is done, 

Once the face is turned from dawning to the setting 
of the sun, 

You may sit among the flowers that you plucked and 
threw away, 

Turn the leaves of Time all backward, try to read 
them as you may, 



206 THE LOST HEART 

You may kindle fires of Memory, you may sit and 

watch the flame, 
But there's something changed within you that can 

never be the same. 

You may lay aside the burden of your troubles as you 

will, 
But the bent and sunken shoulders tell the story to 

you still; 
The story of the troubles and the trials that are 

sealed 
From the simple hearts of children, and to men alone 

revealed. 
The sorrow dulls, the sigh is stilled, the sore hearts 

soothed are, 
The smarting wound is healed again, but always 

leaves a scar, 
The fire of youth burns only once, and dies in its 

dead flame, 
The simple heart of boyhood that can never be the 

same. 

So I sit among the trellises and trees and wonder 
why: 

Clear the air as in my boyhood and as blue the un- 
flecked sky, 

Full the leaves as ever blowing, sweet the bird songs 
and as free, 

But the boy's heart that throbbed to them is un- 
tuned and dead in me. 



THE LOST HEART 207 

There's a longing, longing, longing, speaking in a 

deep-drawn sigh, 
For the heart that throbbed in. boyhood, cloudless 

as the azure sky; 
For the heart that was the sunlight and the air — 

that tongue nor pen 
Can ever paint or picture — that I cannot know 

again. 



VERSES OF A LITTLE CHILD 

NEVER a care as she lies asleep, 
Dear little lassie with red-brown hair; 
Angels of Light a sweet vigil keep, 
Keep for the little one slumbering there. 
Never a dream as she lies so still, 

Never a dream but of Fairyland, 
Fairyland and the flowers that fill 

Her bed, and the lilies within her hand. 

Never a tear as she lies at rest, 

Now or ever or evermore; 
Never a sorrow to bruise her breast, 

Ever the gladness of fairy lore. 
Never the rough way to bruise her feet, 

Never or ever a discord sound, 
Only the murmur of music sweet, 

And the laughing of Cherubim, all around. 

Never a sigh from the silent lips, 

For the dollies all carefully laid away; 
Only the music of laughter slips 

Out of the realm of the sunlit day. 
Never or ever a thought or care, 

For the little hat with its flowered wreath, 
Bearing a vision of red-brown hair 

Flying in tangled curls beneath. 



VERSES OF A LITTLE CHILD 209 

Dead? Ah, no! She is just asleep, 

Asleep where the dreams and daisies are; 
Angels of Light a sweet vigil keep, 

Keep in the light of a twinkling star. 
Asleep, and the odors of flowers fill 

Her bed, and the lilies within her hand; 
Asleep, and the whispering angels still 

Her sighs with the dreams of Fairyland. 



GOLDEN DAYS IN SLOWVILLE 

THESE are golden days in Slowville; there is 
gladness up and down; 
For they're sticking circus posters 'round 
the little country town. 
Flaming sheets of red and yellow on its every barn 

and fence 
Tell of wonders aggregated disregardful of expense. 
Tell of wildernesses threaded for the fierce Bigrig- 

majig; 
Tell of jungle-beasts made captive and of marvels 

small and big, 
"In a most stupendous spectacle of splendor and 

renown," 
Say the flaming circus posters in the little country 
town. 

They have wielded monster brushes from the dewy 
hours of morn, 

They have covered half of Jones's barn with grandeur 
heaven-born; 

They have pictured fluffy ladies on the backs of 
dashing steeds, 

They have ornamented Slowville with a wealth of 
daring deeds; 

They have left a Ripperumptus on the back of Rob- 
bin's fence, 

Captured in the wilds of Africa at marvelous expense; 



GOLDEN DAYS IN SLOWVILLE 211 

They've a retinue of big-eyed lads as they move up 

and down 
When they put up circus posters in the little country 

town. 

Oh! the multicolored marvels done in wonder-rous- 
ing haste 

With a broad red barn for background and no means 
but brush and paste. 

"Hi, there, Jimmy! See the monkeys!" All the air 
is shrill with cries 

As the likenesses of wild beasts are upreared in gor- 
geous dyes; 

There's the fierce Ornithorinktus and the dreadful 
Whatisnot, 

The blood-sweating Crinklawoozum and the awful 
Bingleswat. 

Tent and sideshow, flag and streamer, elephant, 
parade, and clown — 

Oh! they're sticking circus posters 'round the little 
country town. 

These are sleepless nights in Slowville; sleepless 
nights and anxious days; 

There's a hoarding of stray pennies got in half a 
hundred ways; 

There are lads in wonder raptured; open-mouthed, 
with bulging eyes, 

Where the marvelous menageries from gorgeous post- 
ers rise; 



212 GOLDEN DAYS IN SLOWVILLE 

Oh! there's glory, glory, glory in the chariots 

arrayed, 
There's rapture in the promise of the splendorous 

parade; 
And new life has come to Slowville and is surging up 

and down 
Since they put up circus posters in the little country 

town. 



THE HEART OF A CHILD 

GIVE me thy happy heart, Oh little child! 
Where love springs like the sweetest flower, 
wild, 
From all its virgin soil, and radiantly 
Reflects its fresh, unsullied purity. 

Give me thy heart, that knows not heat or hate, 
Nor passion thrills, nor grief makes desolate, 
When love, lone," reigned, and Life but smiled and 

smiled, 
Give me thy spotless heart, Oh little child ! 

Give me thine artless tongue that to deceive 
Knows not; but lisps to laugh and wakes to weave 
In whispered words diviner melody 
Of love than speaks in grandest symphony. 

Give me thine eyes that see but happiness, 
Nor aught of else in all the hours that bless 
Thy childhood time, nor any graver ray 
Than the glad sunshine of an endless day. 

Would we could cleanse our hearts and make them 

young, 
As when were sweeter chimes of childhood rung 
From them, and when were flowers springing wild 
From the untrampled soil, Oh little child ! 



THE STRENUOUS LIFE 

THAT is your father, dear 
Just going out the door; 
Oh, he's been living here 
For seven years or more ! 
In business he's so deep 
He has no time to fret 
With little girls, but keep 

Up hope — we'll meet him yet! 

That is your mother, dear, 

Just getting in the car, 
She knows that you are here 

And also who you are! 
But what with clubs to meet 

And bridge to play, you see, 
With hours so short and fleet 

She's turned you o'er to me. 

But there, my dear, don't fret, 

Or let those blue eyes blur, 
Some time I know you'll get 

Acquainted, too, with her. 
Why, sometimes, in the night 

When angels vigil keep, 
She asks if you're all right 

And when you went to sleep! 



THE STRENUOUS LIFE 215 

I think you'd like them both, 

I think they'd both like you, 
But what with "higher growth" 

And many things to do 
They're simply rushed to death, 

But there, my dear, don't cry, 
If they should stop for breath 

We'll meet them bye and bye. 



A SONG OF MOTHERHOOD 

SEW, sew, sew! For there's many a rent to 
mend; 
There's a stitch to take and a dress to make, 
For where do her labors end ? 
Sew, sew, sew! For a rent in a dress she spies, 

Then it's needle and thread and an aching head 
And see how the needle flies! 

Brush, brush, brush! For there's many a boy to 
clean, 

And start to school with a slate and rule, 
With a breakfast to get between. 
Comb, comb, comb ! In the minute she has to spare, 

For what is so wild — unreconciled 
As the wastes of a youngster's hair? 

Sweep, sweep, sweep ! Oh, follow the flashing broom, 
And with towel bound her forehead round 

She goes from room to room. 

Dust, dust, dust! As down on her knees she kneels, 
For there's much to do in the hour or two 

Of interval 'twixt meals. 

Bake, bake, bake! For the cookie jar piled high 

But yesterday irt some curious way 
Is empty again, Oh my! 



A SONG OF MOTHERHOOD 217 

Stir, stir, stir, in the froth of yellow and white, 

For well she knows how the story goes 
Of a small boy's appetite. 

Scrub, scrub, scrub! For the floor that was spick 
and span, 

Alas, alack! has a muddy track 
Where some thoughtless youngster ran. 
Splash, splash, splash ! For the dishes of thrice a day 

Are piled up high to wash and dry 
And put on the shelves away. 

Patch, patch, patch ! And oh for a pantaloon 

That would not tear or rip or wear 
In the course of an afternoon ! 
Patch, patch, patch ! And see how the needle flies, 

For a mother knows how the fabric goes 
Where the seat of trouble lies. 

Toil, toil, toil! For when do her labors end, 
With a dress to make and a cake to bake 

And dresses and hose to mend ? 

Stew, stew, stew! Fret and worry and fuss, 
And who of us knows of the frets and woes 

In the days when she mothered us ? 



YOUTH 

DON'T you recall when apples grew, 
Oh, twice as big as now? 
When fish, however they were few, 
Were monster ones somehow? 
When Gaines's mill-dam made a roar 

As though the water hurled 
Were gathered in a mighty store 
From all the wide, wide world? 

Don't you remember when the trees, 

The oak trees and the beech, 
Were lost in clouds on days like these 

And eyes could hardly reach 
Their waving tops ? When noonday skies 

Were oh, such deeper blue? 
When Jack's great bean stalk in our eyes 

Just grew and grew and grew? 

And there were bells, so more than fine, 

Of blue and white and red, 
Upon the morning glory vine 

That climbed up on the shed, 
To be a wonder and delight, 

So fresh and full of dew, 
To bud and open in a night — 

I see them now — don't you ? 



YOUTH 219 

Don't you remember when the caves 

Were thick and full of gloom, 
Where captive maidens, once, like slaves, 

Were chained in some damp room? 
When twilight rustling in the brush 

Was some fierce beast? A cow 
It was, but cows at dusk are — Hush! 

I think I hear one now. 

Come, take a little trip with me, 

Forget the things that fret, 
For you may close your eyes and see 

Some things that I forget. 
Why, I've seen Bluebeard's hidden room 

And Cinderella's shoe! 
And I have seen where violets bloom — 

So blue! So blue! So blue! 



AFTER THE YEARS 

WHEN you went back to the old home place 
had the mountain become a hill? 
Had the raging river your boyhood knew 
shrunk down to a peaceful rill? 
Were the monster trees in the old front yard but half 

of their former size? 
Was something gone — and you don't know what — 

from the blue of the arching skies ? 
Was the swimming-hole but a muddy pool when 

once it was crystal clear? 
Were the apples but half as big and red as they were 
in that other year? 

When you went back to the old home place did the 

red barn seem so small 
It didn't look like the one you'd known? Was the 

mighty waterfall 
That used to roar in your boyish ears but a little dash 

of spray 
That fell so light you could hardly hear a dozen feet 

away? 
Were the corn rows only half as long as they were in 

the long ago, 
When you measured them with aching arms and the 

weight of a heavy hoe ? 



AFTER THE YEARS 221 

When you went back to the old home place had the 

mill pond dwindled down ? 
Was Main Street only a muddy track in the heart of 

a sleepy town? 
And the well that was fathoms, fathoms deep, with 

its wheel and creaking chain, 
Did it seem to you like a shrunken thing when you 

looked at it again? 
Was something gone of the bygone days, from the 

sod and the arch of sky 
That we used to see when we played as boys in the 

old days — you and I ? 

Nay, Heart, the mountain rises high as it did of yore; 

the rill 
Was a river once and the boys near by see a raging 

river still. 
The well is fathoms, fathoms deep and the apples 

ripe and red; 
The sod is cool and green and soft, and the sky up 

overhead 
Is blue and clear, and the days are rare and glad as 

they used to be — 
But where is the Heart of the olden time — hast thou 

brought it back with thee ? 



A VERSE TO MEMORY 

NOW Memory, like a little child, 
Takes me by one soft hand. 
By dreams of keen delight beguiled 
We stray through Flowerland; 
And like the child, sweet Memory 

By many a by-way strays, 
Plucks flowers and bears them back to me 
To fashion my bouquets. 

By many sweet, secluded ways 

She wanders, far or near; 
A rose upon my garland lays 

Bejeweled with a tear; 
The rose of some far-flown ideal, 

A fragrance, ah, how rare! 
My fingers close but to reveal 

The ashes crumbling there. 

Now tinkling laughter ripples clear 

As some new flower she spies, 
Some far-forgotten joys appear 

As fairy faces rise. 
My thoughts in revel, flower-wreathed, 

Heart-full, my garlands lie, 
While on the scented air is breathed 

A greeting and good-bye. 



A VERSE TO MEMORY 223 

Come, Child, away! The frolic ends, 

The flower in ashes, dead; 
The perfume with the air that blends 

We'll bear away instead. 
Here at the hedge we kiss and part, 

Some sterner duties find. 
Bear all the sweetness in the heart 

But leave the flowers behind. 

Thank God, thank God for Memory, 

Half smile and half a tear; 
The flowers are there eternally, 

And when the days are drear, 
In through the tangled hedge of days 

We wander, hand in hand, 
And I may dream, while Memory strays, 

A child is Flowerland. 



LEST I FORGET 

WHEN from my earliest abode in boyhood's 
merry days I strode, 
Oh, well do I remember how my mother 
came — I see her now — 
And, standing in the old front door, repeated to me 
o'er and o'er: 

" Oh, William, don't do this and that, and William, 

wear your other hat. 
Please, William, don't forget my note, and William, 

wear your overcoat. 
And William, hurry on your way, or you'll be late 

to school today." 
And far and long as I could hear her admonitions to 

my ear 
Came floating on, repeated yet, lest I forget, lest I 

forget. 

When from my lessons, shirked or done, came home- 
ward I at waning sun, 

Oh, well do I remember how my mother came — I 
see her now — 

And greeted me at that front door with admonitions 
o'er and o'er: 

"Oh, William, don't do this and that, and wipe your 
feet upon the mat, 



LEST I FORGET 225 

And do not slam the door and wake the baby, 

William, and please take 
This package down to Howe and Hatch and tell them 

that it doesn't match, 
And don't forget to hurry back, because the kitchen 

fire is slack"; 
And far and long as I could hear her admonitions to 

my ear 
Come floating on, repeated yet, lest I forget, lest I 

forget. 

I'm married now — at man's estate, and yet, quite 

mournful to relate, 
My wife it is who, as before, comes with me to the 

new front door, 
And standing there, bombards me for a block or two, 

and o'er and o'er: 

"Oh, William, don't you wet your feet, and William, 

don't forget the meat, 
And William, don't forget to mail my letter promptly, 

and don't fail 
To pay the ice bill, order wood; and William, would 

you be so good 
As to stop in at Jones's store and get a bit of ribbon 

for 
The baby's hair?" — and so 'tis yet — lest I forget 

— lest I forget ! 



ECHO OF A SONG 

TO my fancy, idly roaming, comes a picture 
of the gloaming, 
Comes a fragrance from the blossoms of the 
lilac and the rose; 
With the yellow lamplight streaming I am sitting 
here and dreaming 
Of a half-forgotten twilight whence a mellow mem- 
ory flows; 
To my listening ears come winging vagrant notes of 
woman's singing, 
I've a sense of sweet contentment as the sounds are 
borne along; 
'Tis a mother who is tuning her fond heart to love 
and crooning 
To her laddie such a 

Sleepy little, 

Creepy little, 

Song. 

Ah, how well do I remember when by crackling spark 
and ember 
The old-fashioned oaken rocker moved with rhyth- 
mic sweep and slow; 
With her feet upon the fender, in a cadence low and 
tender, 
Floated forth that slumber anthem of a childhood 
long ago. 



ECHO OF A SONG 227 

There were goblins in the gloaming and the half- 
closed eyes went roaming 
Through the twilight for the ghostly shapes of 
bugaboos along; 
Now the sandman's slyly creeping and a tired lad 
half sleeping 
When she sings to him that 

Sleepy little, 

Creepy little, 

Song. 

I am sitting here and dreaming with the mellow lamp- 
light streaming 
Through the vine-embowered window in a yellow 
filigree; 
On the fragrant air come winging vagrant notes of 
woman's singing, 
'Tis the slumber song of childhood that is murmur- 
ing to me; 
And some subtle fancy creeping lulls my senses half 
to sleeping 
As the misty shapes of bugaboos go dreamily along, 
All my sorrows disappearing, as a tired lad I'm hear- 
ing 
Once again my mother's 

Sleepy little, 

Creepy little, 

Song. 



LOVERS' LANE 

HOW good to remember Life's June from 
September, 
The days that were fairer than ever again; 
When hearts held no sorrow to last o'er the morrow 

And heads were brimful of the wisdom of ten; 
No skies were e'er bluer, no heart was e'er truer 
Than mine when I waited in sunshine or rain 
With joy that enriched me for one who bewitched me 
And bade me to wait till she came down the lane. 

Our trysting-place gaining, my eyes they were strain- 
ing 
Afar down the road, and my lips hummed a tune 
That held all the sweetness of first love's complete- 
ness 
The whiles that I waited at morning and noon; 
For last when we parted, beloved, fond hearted, 

She pledged me to wait for her, sunshine or rain, 
And so I kept humming, I knew she was coming, 
A girl queen in gingham, somewhere down the 
lane. 

And there with a vision of futures Elysian 

I traced both our names with my toe in the dust, 

And not a temptation could alter my station 
As knight of the faithful heart, true to its trust. 




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LOVERS' LANE 229 

With ecstasy thrilling, I heard a far trilling 
So sweeter than bird song, and heard it again, 

The heart of the maiden, care-free and joy-laden, 
Was borne on the music I heard down the lane. 

Ah, who knows the story of Life and its glory, 

The unending bliss of the days that were then; 
And who knows the sweetness of first love's complete- 
ness 

Who has not the wisdom of thirteen and ten ? 
For back went a trilling to her that was spilling 

Its burden of gladness through all of the air, 
With infinite yearning her message returning 

To show I was true and awaited her there. 

Oh, hearts that are older, what secrets I told her! 

What dreams of the future, of grown girl and boy! 
For what of the weather, when two walk together 

The pathway to school in the heyday of joy ? 
When hours are but measures of innocent pleasures, 

When days brim with gladness, as winecups to 
drain, 
When Life learns the sweetness of first love's com- 
pleteness 

In waiting for Her as she comes down the lane ! 



DADDY KNOWS 

LET us dry our tears now, laddie, 
Let us put aside our woes; 
Let us go and talk to daddy, 
For I'm sure that daddy knows. 
Let us take him what we've broken, 

Be it heart or hope or toy, 
And the tale may bide unspoken, 
For he used to be a boy. 

He has been through all the sorrows 

Of a lad at nine or ten; 
He has seen the dawn of morrows 

When the sun shone bright again; 
His own heart has been near breaking, 

Oh, more times than I can tell, 
And has often known the aching 

That a boy's heart knows so well. 

I am sure he well remembers, 

In his calendar of days, 
When the boy-heart was December's, 

Though the sun and flowers were May's. 
He has lived a boy's life, laddie, 

And he knows just how it goes; 
Let us go and talk to daddy, 

For I'm sure that daddy knows. 



DADDY KNOWS 231 

Let us tell him all about it, 

How the sting of it is there, 
And I have not any doubt it 

Will be easier to bear; 
For he's trodden every byway, 

He has fathomed every joy, 
He has traveled every highway 

In the wide world of a boy. 

He will put aside the worries 

That his day may follow through, 
For the great heart of him hurries 

At the call for help from you. 
He will help us mend the broken 

Heart of ours or hope or toy, 
And the tale may bide unspoken — 

For he used to be a boy. 



TO CHILDREN AT THE HEARTH 

IT is you, my dears, and the gladness 
You bring to the tasks to do, 
Who can lessen this old world's sadness 
By as much as the joy of you. 
It is you, my dears, and your glory 

Of sunshine and word and song 
Who can make life a sweeter story 
Wherever you smile along. 

It is you, my dears, with your beauty 

And freshness of mind and heart 
Who must offer your share of duty 

And play yet a nobler part. 
For the world, it has need of beauty 

And youth that is fine and new, 
And the call you may hear to duty 

Is for you, my dears — just you. 

It is you, my dears, that the sages 

Have written their counsels to, 
It is you, my dears, that the ages 

Leave legacies to — just you. 
And remember that every letter 

That Wisdom has graven through 
The years, so the world be better, 

Is for you, my dears — just you. 



TO CHILDREN AT THE HEARTH 233 

It is you who must be the bravest 

To fight, if the cause be true; 
It is you who must be the gravest 

In word and in deed — just you. 
It is you who must be the strongest 

To stand till the battle's through, 
And you who must smile the longest 

And never despair — just you. 

It is you, my dears, and your glory 

Of gladness and youth and smile, 
Who shall help to say if the story 

Of life and the world's worth while. 
For the years of all time have shaped us, 

And the lore of the Ages, too, 
And to say if the Truth's escaped us 

Is for you, my dears — just you. 



A TOAST TO THE SMALL BOY 

HE knows the vagrant country roads 
Where sleepily they wind; 
He has his pockets full of toads, 
His smile is broad and kind; 
His dreams of lands and seas — who knows? 

His joys are never still, 
And whistling through the world he goes, 
The rugged small boy — Bill ! 

His world is full of song and shine, 

His days are all his own; 
His nights are full of plans so fine 

That youngsters all have known; 
With all the joy that health can give 

His ruddy pulses thrill, 
And, bless me, how he loves to live, 

This rugged small boy — Bill! 

His trousers know the ample patch, 

His shoes gape at the toes, 
But see him gladly toe the scratch 

For any chum he knows; 
The heart of him is good as gold, 

And songs of gladness spill 
From his red lips, this sunny-souled 

And rugged small boy — Bill ! 



A TOAST TO THE SMALL BOY 235 

His scratch-scarred legs are never tired, 

His eyes bright-souled and starred, 
His heart with hopeful youth is fired, 

His sunny soul unscarred; 
The world is his, the fields, the trees, 

The brook, the wood, the hill, 
To do his will, as he may please, 

This rugged small boy — Bill ! 

He knows the song of life by heart, 

In fancy he may weave 
Such dreams as make the pulses start, 

A King of Make-Believe; 
And when I speak with him I hear 

Truth ripple like a rill 
From him, and gladness and good cheer, 

This rugged small boy — Bill ! 

Oh, bide thee, bide thee, overlong, 

Health, happiness, and youth; 
Be glad thy heart and light thy song 

And pure and clear thy truth ! 
Nor cloud to dim thy sunny ways, 

Nor aught to bring thee ill, 
And year on year of perfect days, 

My rugged small boy — Bill ! 



AN ADVENTUROUS DAY 

ONE time in vacation we boys all left town 
To stay in the country for Sunday; and 
down 
By Deacon Gray's pasture a rabbit came out 
Right close to the highway and looked all about 
Until it saw us and it started to run 
Right down the highroad like a shot from a gun; 
So Billy Beggs threw off his coat and his hat 
And chased it till both of its ears were down flat, 
And, my, it just ran as if it saw a ghost, 
And Bill ran so fast that he caught it — almost! 

And under the bridge where it crosses the creek 
We saw some fish swimming and darting as quick 
As a flash in the water, and one fish would flop 
Himself till he almost would come to the top; 
So then we got down on the bridge and we tied 
A pin on a string and dropped it down the side 
With a bug on the pin, and the fishes would look 
While Billy Beggs wiggled the bug on the hook; 
And one fish was hungry and came up so close 
That Bill gave a jerk and he caught it — almost! 

And over by Skinner's a big hawk flew by 
And lit on a stump that was not very high, 
But didn't see us and we crawled up quite slow 
Through the grass to the stump with a big stone to 
throw; 



AN ADVENTUROUS DAY 237 

And Billy Beggs said that the hawk was asleep 
For it never stirred once; and the grass was so deep 
That we got to within a few feet from the stump, 
And Billy Beggs peeked, and his heart gave a thump; 
And when he got ever and ever so close 
He stood up and threw and he hit it — almost! 

And then it got cloudy and thundered and then 
It lightened just awful and thundered again; 
It rained some big drops and we started to run 
To get in the barn till the shower was done; 
And lightning just spattered and crackled and 

flashed 
And we were all scared as could be, and we splashed 
All through mud and water, and then a big crack 
Of lightning came down and Bill Beggs hollered back 
From 'way up ahead, just as pale as a ghost, 
And said that last lightning had struck him — almost! 

And over by Griggs's somebody came out 
And hollered to us when we're all just about 
So tired we could drop, and they took us right in 
By the big kitchen fire 'cause we're wet to the skin; 
And Mrs. Griggs gave us some blankets to wear 
While all of our clothes were hung over a chair; 
And she made some tea till she got us warmed through 
And then the storm stopped and the sky got all blue; 
And Billy Beggs told her the flash came so close 
That he 'membered the whole of the Lord's Prayer — 
almost! 



POEM OF THE FORAGERS 

SCHOOL'S out, and homeward with the ebbing 
day 
They come — Tom Jones, Jim Brooks and 
Eddie Gray; 
And half a million others far or near, 
Not much unlike the boys I know right here; 
With empty dinnerpails and schoolbooks slung 
Across their shoulders by a strap. The tongue 
Of boyhood at the kitchen door gives cry: 
"Ma, can't I have a doughnut, or some pie?" 
For, say, the appetite of boys is prime 
And cannot be content till suppertime. 

'Tis four o'clock, and I can hear them go — 

A million youngsters — homeward, fast and slow; 

The drowsy schoolroom clock has dragged its hands 

Across its face until Time's signal stands 

At long-awaited four — that blessed hour 

When schoolbooks close and teachers lose the power 

That despot rulers have — and flags unfurled 

Lead schoolboy armies to a waiting world ! 

And up the back steps bound returning feet: 

"Ma, can't I go and get a bite to eat?" 

School's out — what ransacking of cooky jars! 
What letting down of pantry gates and bars! 



POEM OF THE FORAGERS 239 

What dipping into barrels here and there, 
With heads far down and feet high up in air, 
For Winesaps, Baldwins, Pippins ! What a charge 
Upon the jars of jam and loaves baked large 
And round and brown — what a tumultuous cry: 
"Ma, can't I have a little piece of pie?" 
And so this schoolboy army waxes fat 
Upon its foraged commissariat! 



^TMIANKS are due to the Editors of The Satur- 
-*■ day Evening Post, The Century Magazine, 
The New York Times, and The Youth's Companion, 
in which papers the greater number of these verses 
originally appeared, for permission to reprint. 



JUL' 3 1913 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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